


To Learn Thy Song

by BizzareAmy



Category: The Lord of the Rings - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Arranged Marriage, Cross-Posted on FanFiction.Net, Drama, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/M, Post-War of the Ring, Rare Pairings, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-10-23
Updated: 2018-12-12
Packaged: 2019-08-06 08:29:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 26,521
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16384715
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BizzareAmy/pseuds/BizzareAmy
Summary: Arwen leaves Middle Earth before the War finishes. When Aragorn is crowned king, he is faced with the task of finding a queen. The aptest choice is Lothíriel of Dol Amroth. Thrown in a marriage of duty, the two struggle with choices that would define their relationship and who they are.





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> Hello reader!  
> This fic is my answer to the question: 'What if Arwen had actually left when she had and there was no Tenth Walker OC to grab Aragorn's poor, sad heart?' I believe that since Éowyn had moved on to Faramir after Aragorn's rejection, the realistic choice of a queen would be the highest ranking lady of Gondor. And that is where Lothíriel comes in. Though Tolkien wrote that Éomer and Lothíriel met sometime after the War, I'm of the opinion that their marriage would have been more arranged than love. And even if it was love, it would not have developed in just one meeting.  
> So here in this AU, since the search for Aragorn's bride begins immediately after his coronation, Lothíriel would not be free to get together with Éomer. Hence why the Éomer/OC tag. It's a side plot and quite minor, but I've kept the possibility of a spin-off open.  
> I hope you enjoy! I'll try to update as soon as possible, but the schedule might not be regular. Ciao.

King Thengel of Rohan and Morwen Steelsheen's first of four children, a daughter, was named Mædwyn (b. 2945 - d. 3012). Second child was King Théoden (b. 2948) and last was Lady Théodwyn (b. 2963 - d. 3002). Their third child and second daughter died due to illness at the age of 7 in 2959.  
Princess Mædwyn wed Lord Dêorlic (b. 2930 - d. 3000) of Helm's Deep, Second Marshall of the Mark, in 2966. The couple had two daughters, the elder of whom, Lady Grishild (b. 2970) married Lord Angbor (b. 2965) of Lamedon, Gondor in 2994. To them, Lady Dannasell of Lamedon was born in 2996. Thus making her, and her two younger brothers, first cousin once removed of King Éomer (b. 2991).

Lord Angbor's sister, Lady Aeriel (b. 2962 - d. 3009) was wed to Prince Imrahil (b. 2955) of Dol Amroth in 2984. She died in a shipwreck caused by a storm in the Bay of Belfalas when returning from a ritualistic festival held on the island of Tolfalas, while her son Elphir survived. She left behind her husband and four children, the youngest of whom was Lothíriel (b. 2999).  
Lothíriel was betrothed to her first cousin, Boromir (b. 2978 - d. 3019), son of Denethor, Steward of Gondor, in January of 3018. Though marriage between cousins was not per se prohibited, since they considered each other in sibling-like terms, their match was protested heavily. When Boromir died at Among Hen, Lothíriel mourned his passing as a bereaved betrothed. Because, despite their initial reservations about the match, they had grown closer to each other and she had begun to reconcile herself with a future as his wife. In time, her path would entwine with that of Aragorn, son of Arathorn, heir of Elendil.

Aragorn, Chieftain of the Dúnedain, fell in love with an Elven lady - Arwen Undómiel at the age of 20. For years to come, their love would grow but remain unfulfilled as her father would not give his daughter away to a mere ranger. It was only when the One Ring was found that hope for a future together, where Aragorn had claimed the throne of Gondor, had awakened. But the Ring affected Arwen deeply when she rescued Frodo Baggins from the Ringwraiths. She had given her grace to save the Hobbit - a decision that left her vulnerable to the growing darkness. Before the Fellowship of the ring even departed, Arwen had started fading and Aragorn urged her to sail for Aman. Faced with the risk of becoming a wraith, she left Arda and her mortal love with a heavy heart, never to return.  
Aragorn learnt of her departure from Lady Galadriel in Lothlórien, where she gifted him the Elfstone as a last token of Arwen. After surviving the War of the Ring and restoring the throne of Gondor, his fate would lead him to Lothíriel of Dol Amroth. This is their story.


	2. Arrivals

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Erchirion arrives at Osgiliath with news from Lothíriel and Dol Amroth.

**Osgiliath**

**29th April, 3019**

"Riders!" The shout rang out across the gates of Osgiliath, catching the attention of the soldiers preparing for the day's march back to Minas Tirith. All tensed up at once and were ready to charge at a moment's notice. But the caution was for naught as another call was made, "Messengers from Dol Amroth!"

Hearing the name, Elphir, eldest son of Prince Imrahil, drew away from his conversation with King Éomer of Rohan to eagerly await the arrival of whoever was bringing news of his homeland.

"You seem impatient, my friend," Éomer jested, taking note of the barely hidden excitement of the heir.

"I left my wife and son back home," he replied, a touch of defiance in his tone. "We'll see how you react when you receive news after months apart from your wife."

The Rohir chuckled heartily, "Then I shall simply not part from her for so long!"

"We might just have that luxury now," Elphir said thoughtfully.

Éomer remembered all those homesick days when he was out patrolling and imagined a future where men won't have to stay so long away now. It looked beautiful. "Indeed. Indeed."

The pair moved closer to the gates just as the party of 5 came clanging in. The rider at the front swiftly dismounted, removing his helmet to shake out his clammy hair.

"Erchirion!" cried Elphir as he dashed forward to the new arrival. He paid no mind as to how the men would think it indecorous of a lord to exhibit such unrestrained behaviour. They had just won the war to end all wars, if this wasn't time for happiness, then there wouldn't ever be one.

"Brother!" the second-born laughed as he was tightly embraced.

"How came you here, Erchi? You should be resting still, not gallivanting across the Pelennor!"

"Oh Elphir," came the long-suffering sigh. "Cease your fussing. I was discharged by the Warden himself. And Lothíriel sent a message ahead, so I thought why not accompany these fine men in delivering it to father?!"

"You reckless idiot," the elder brother shook his head fondly, "I'm so glad to see you."

Erchirion's lips quirked in that infamous smile of his that has caused many to fall for his innocent facade. "As you should be. I'm a ray of sunshine over the ocean!"

"I'm inclined to agree, o brave Knight of Dol Amroth!" Éomer piped up from where he was witnessing the brothers' reunion.

Erchirion finally noticed the man standing behind his brother and exclaimed loudly, "Hail Éomer, King of Rohan!"

"Hush, my friend," the young king said embarrassingly. "There is no need for formality between brothers-at-arms. If anything, I owe you a great debt for saving my life on the battlefield. Tell me, how fare you now?"

"I'm well and truly healed, Éomer. The only thing that ails me is that you would call this a debt when there is none! Had the Rohirrim not come to our aid, there would be no Gondor today. You saved us all and I merely returned that favour _,_  my friend. As much as I could."

Éomer smiled bemusedly at the jovial man. 'It seems all sons of Imrahil are generous of spirit,' he thought; while out loud he said, "I believe we can have this argument all day long!"

The three men laughed at the veracity of that statement, but it was Elphir who put a rest to any notion of making it a reality. "Indeed. But come Erchi, freshen up while I fetch father and Amrothos. What news is there of Dol Amroth?"

"All in due time, brother. What I can say now is that you will both like and dislike the tidings," Erchirion replied with a wink, much to the disgruntlement of his older brother.

* * *

When Erchirion entered the solar he'd been directed to, he found both his brothers and father seated with the new Kings of Gondor and Rohan.

"My son! I'm so pleased to see you well again." Prince Imrahil said as he stood up to embrace his second-born.

"Father. Thank the Valar you're all safe." When they separated Amrothos came up to give him a one-armed hug, as was their norm. "Amrothos," he nodded at his younger brother, "I see you survived despite your horrible swordsmanship."

The taller brother snorted, "Might I remind you it wasn't I who was injured, brother."

"Which is why no bard will sing of your heroic defence of a king."

An unfamiliar chuckle drew their attention to the so-far silent figure at the window. Aragorn had stood there staring out at the flowing river in the distance until he turned to greet the newcomer. The teasing exchange of the brothers was enough to prompt him into a rare moment of mirth.

"My lord Aragorn." Erchirion bent in a quick bow to his uncrowned king.

"Lord Erchirion," the Dunadan greeted. "It gladdens my heart to see you recovered."

"All thanks to you, my lord. They told me I was one of those lucky enough to be healed by the hands of the king."

Aragorn merely inclined his head in reply, a modest smile gracing his lips. Imrahil then ushered them to their seats, eager to hear the message by his daughter. Amrothos, noticing his eldest brother's restlessness, remarked to Echirion, "You better start talking, Erchi; for I fear Elphir may just shake the words out of you before long."

Erchirion laughed at Elphir's poorly hidden impatience, "Then I shall start with news of Meril and Alphros. They could not accompany Lothíriel to Minas Tirith."

"What!? But why?" questioned Elphir, a look of utter dismay on his face.

A mysterious smile took over Erchirion as he replied, "Because she is with child." Noise broke out in the room, with all the men expressing their joy and congratulating the father-to-be. Elphir sat there stunned for a moment before the words fully sunk in and he found himself laughing in delight. When the commotion died down, Erchirion continued, "The reason Lothíriel sent a messenger ahead is because they are delayed due to the untraversable roads."

"Roads?" Amrothos frowned. "Why did she not take the ships?"

"There was warning of a storm in the Bay. So she took a smaller contingent and rode for Minas Tirith. But it seems there was some landslide near the Sirith pass, thus the holdup."

"How much delay?" Imrahil asked.

"2 days or so. She thinks she'll be there on the morn of the 1st."

The Prince harrumphed in thought, "Then we must tarry here a day longer."

"Why must we wait for the lady?" Éomer's confused voice startled Erchirion, as he had completely forgotten that the Rohir king was sitting with them. For cutting such imposing figure as he did, Éomer was surprisingly adept at blending in the background.

"Because she's the High Lady of Gondor," Elphir answered. "We have a tradition here that after a battle, the victor captains are welcomed back by the High Lady. She represents the Vala Nessa, wife of Tulkas, the Champion of Valinor. Tulkas never ventured in any battle without Nessa's blessing and favour, and she would be the one to receive him back as a victor each time. Hence why the Númenóreans worship her as the Vala of Victory."

Imrahil nodded in agreement and added further, "As the highest born lady in Gondor, it falls to Lothíriel to fulfil that role. Before her death, my sister Ivriniel was the High Lady and she would bless the marching troops as well as receive them back. It is considered bad luck to go without the High Lady's favour or to return without her welcome."

"I remember Lady Finduilas' blessing at the farewell ceremony before our attack on the Corsair ships long ago," Aragorn commented with a contemplative expression. "I had not thought that it was as the High Lady that she did so."

A pained look entered Imrahil's eyes at the mention of his beloved sister, who was taken too soon from the world. "Though Finduilas was the younger born, as the wife of the Steward, she became the highest ranking lady in Gondor. The title fell to her and was later taken up by Ivriniel after her death. But alas, even she departed this life just before peace came to our homeland."

They lapsed in silence as the Dol Amrothians remembered their kinswoman. Ivriniel's death was yet fresh in their minds, as she had succumbed to her illness days before the siege of Minas Tirith. To have lost not only Boromir but Ivriniel and then Denethor in quick succession had been a blow they were still recovering from. The fact that their whole family came out the other side of the Great War intact, was no small miracle.

"What about when we marched for the Black Gate?" challenged Éomer, breaking the quiet. "For I did not see the High Lady blessing us then."

"But she did," informed Imrahil. "As soon as our debate finished, I sent out my fastest bird south to ask for Lothíriel's favour. We received her blessing when we reached Morgul Vale."

"Did you not notice the crooked star on the King's standard?" Amrothos queried, arching an unimpressed eyebrow at Éomer.

"That was Lady Lothíriel's handiwork?"

"Indeed. She did it in haste, without the proper dimensions at hand," came Amrothos' reply, and in an undertone, he added, "Not that she's a master embroider anyway."

"And if I'm not mistaken, it was Lord Aragorn who attached it to the banner." Everyone turned to the former ranger at Elphir's words.

"Aye," Aragorn confirmed. "Gandalf was of the opinion that my training as a healer would render the stitches smoother."

Imrahil laughed at that, "Much good did it do! You should confine yourself to stitching wounds, Aragorn. The cloth is not your forte."

The king smiled good-naturedly at the teasing and remarked, "One does have to wonder if it was Lady Lothíriel's haste or my incompetence at stitching banners that rendered it crooked. Unfortunately, that imperfection did nothing to distract Sauron, as was our plan." Laughter followed the words, filling the solar with happiness. All present could feel the lingering darkness ebbing each moment; Sauron's reign of terror nothing but a bad memory now.

* * *

Aragorn hummed quietly as he made his way around the sleeping persons in the back hall of Osgiliath. It was pre-dawn but he had been awake for some time, and with nothing better to do, he had decided to watch the sunrise. Entering the balcony overlooking the eastern mountains in the distance, he noticed a figure already sitting there. It could only have been one of the hobbits, small and hunched over as he was.

"You can join me," the figure said, and Aragorn recognised the voice as that of the Ring-bearer.

"Frodo," he replied in a low tone. "You should be asleep."

"I cannot," he stated sorrowfully. "Sleep eludes me. Is it the same for you, Strider?" Large blue eyes turned to peer at him solemnly, urging him to join the hobbit on the bench.

"Nay. It is the dreams that haunt me," he admitted, sitting beside Frodo. "Dreams I would rather not see again."

"I know." Those were the last words spoken for a while, as the two restless souls gazed at the lightening horizon. When twilight broke out, Frodo whispered so quietly that Aragorn had difficulty hearing him, "I am sorry."

"For what?"

"I know Lady Arwen left because of me."

And there was so much pain in his voice that the ranger could not help but gather the hobbit under his arm. "Frodo," he waited till the hobbit reluctantly met his eyes to add, "It was not your fault."

"But-"

"No, Frodo," he cut in sternly. "It was a long time coming. That incident just made certain what her ultimate fate was to be."

"You miss her," came the soft observation.

"Aye. I do." And they stayed quiet for a while, just gazing at the picture nature painted. Then Aragorn asked, "Is that what had been eating you all this time?"

"Yes," Frodo answered, but his tone suggested there was more to it, so Aragorn waited for him to continue. His patience paid off as the hobbit confessed, "And Boromir."

"Boromir?"

The hobbit nodded, looking into the distance. "I understand him now. Better than anyone else. And I regret the scorn and fear I treated him with. He merely wished to save his people. He had a noble reason to want the Ring. But what reason did I have? To keep it for myself? To cherish it as my  _precious_?"

Aragorn was taken aback at the utter loathing with which the last word was said. He despaired then that such damage had befallen Frodo which cannot be undone. That this whole ordeal had left irreparable scars behind. Trying to reassure, he said, " You are one of the strongest person I know, Frodo. No one could have done what you did."

"It is not my own avarice that I cannot condone," he remarked, the self-recrimination in his tone easy to pick up. "But my actions towards Boromir. He had a good heart and I derided him for it."

"Then we are all his persecutors." Aragorn marvelled at the depth of Frodo's thinking. The quiet hobbit hid an empathy that ran deeper than most would assume.

"And killers."

To that, Aragorn knew not what to reply. Because he himself carried guilt over Boromir's death; if only he had been faster, stronger... better. If only he had answered the call sooner. But Frodo was not looking for platitudes and anything he said now would be just that. The kind of guilt they both bore was not one to be easily rid.

As they both sat contemplating, Aragorn thought of Boromir and the promise he made. He had kept his word but at what cost? The white city was still standing and now awaited her king. But the King himself had no motivation to take up the mantle. His drive to restore the throne had come from Arwen, but with her gone, he wondered if the kingship would be worth it. What good would be a kingdom, if he could not have the Queen he desired?

The new day arrived then, with the first rays of the sun. But Aragorn found no hope in its light, for he gave hope to men and kept none for himself.


	3. At First Glance

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lothíriel and Aragorn meet for the first time. With the Coronation, the welcome, the council meeting, and the feast.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello! Thank you for the kudos guys. I've tried to fix the short length with this update. To the extent, I've also added a scene to the previous chapter. It's not that crucial, so if you skip it, just know that Aragorn and Frodo have a talk wherein the hobbit is guilty over Arwen's departure and Boromir's death. Oh! And I wrote 29th May instead of 29th April there. Corrected that now. Anyway. I'll try to update within the week. Take care till then!
> 
> PS: There is some error with my laptop. It keeps missing text when copied. I'm trying to catch all the gaps and update as needed. Sorry for the inconvenience.

**1st May, 3019**

**Outside Minas Tirith**

Walking amidst the bustling camp, Éomer searched for familiar faces in the pleasant light of the morning sun. It was the first day of May and today, Gondor was supposed to crown her new King. The host had arrived at Minas Tirith late yesterday evening and camped out on the Pelennor Fields for the night. People from the city had come out to greet them, but Éomer's sister was not among them. He had repeatedly called for Éowyn to join the host in Cormallen, but she had kept refusing for some reason. And though Éomer was not usually a patient man, he waited for her to come around on her own. It was not Éowyn's lack of eagerness to reunite with him that made him grouchy - as Éothain told anyone who asked - but rather worry for her well-being that had him snapping at the people around him. At this point, he just wished for all the formalities to be over so that he could see Éowyn and assure himself that she was alright.

"Oi! Éomer. Where are you off to in such a hurry?"

The Rohir King turned to find a group of Rohirric and Dol Amrothian soldiers alike, sitting just at the edge of their camp. Among them were the two youngest sons of Imrahil, and Marshal Elfhelm who had not ridden with them for the Black Gates but rather chased the enemy to Cair Andros. And it seemed it was Erchirion who had spoken, for he was waving his arms like a madman to catch his attention. With an amused smile, Eomer made his way to join the party.

"I was in search for some distracting company, for I grow restless as the minutes pass," Éomer said as he took a seat offered by one of his own men. He then turned to the weathered Marshal of Rohan, "Elfhelm. It is good to see you again, my friend."

"Likewise, my King." Elfhelm respectfully inclined his head in his direction. "We are fortunate to be witnessing another day." A chorus of 'hear, hear' went around the group, every man aware of how easily it could have been them that laid at rest in the cemetery at Minas Tirith.

Éomer nodded in assent and asked the question that had been eating at him since the March to the Black Gates, "Tell me, how fares Éowyn? Have you seen her yet?"

"Aye, my lord," he quickly replied. "She is hale and healthy, and the shadow no longer haunts her as it did before." Something eased within Éomer at hearing that and he took a long relieved breath.

Erchirion cleared his throat pointedly and said, "I could have told you that, Éomer. And two days ago at that!"

Éomer's face flushed at the words, realising his error. For had not Erchirion travelled from Minas Tirith itself to join them at Osgiliath? And he had been one of the wounded resting in the Houses of Healing. Surely he would have known his sister's state of being. Trying to fix his slight, Éomer spoke up, "My friend, I did not mean-"

Amrothos cut off the halting words of the young King, "Worry not, Éomer. He is just teasing. We understand that it is far more reassuring to hear words of comfort from an old friend than a new one."

While Amrothos' words perfectly justified his actions, Éomer still found himself embarrassed by it all. But before any more could be said, the faint sound of hooves registered with the group. They all got up to look southwards, where a small party could be seen advancing towards the city.

The party was no more than a dozen strong and flew the silver-on-blue banner of Dol Amroth along with another banner - a black fist on a yellow field, which Éomer recognised as being of Lamedon. At the front rode two women, recognisable only by their long hair that the dark haired lady wore in a braid over her shoulder, while the russet locks of the other streamed behind her. Their mounts, twin grey mares of the finest Rohir breed, showed their rank as ladies of noble houses.

"Is that the High Lady the folks were talking about?" Elfhelm asked, a curious look in his sharp eyes.

"Aye. That's our sister Lothíriel on the left," Erchirion answered. "And beside her is our cousin - Lady Dannasell of Lamedon."

Éomer started at the name, for he himself had kins in Lamedon through his aunt's daughter.

Amrothos confirmed his suspicions, "Yes. She's your kinswoman too." And with that, he broke away from their cluster and walked ahead, into the path of the approaching riders. As the party slowed down not far from him, he called, "Greetings, Ladies of Gondor!"

The brunette urged her mare towards Amrothos and leaned down to grasp the hand he had outstretched. "Brother. It gladdens my heart to see you alive."

Éomer had moved close enough to hear the smooth, soft voice of Lady Lothíriel. And when her gaze swept over their group, he could see her dark, solemn eyes hiding thoughts unspoken. It was at that moment that he became aware of a lingering stare and he looked around to spot the culprit. To his surprise, it was the Lady Dannasell that watched him with interest. She held his eyes without shying away and while her dark-haired cousin's face betrayed nothing, hers seemed to lay bare every thought that crossed her mind. After a few seconds of mutual study, the redhead bowed her head and turned to her cousins, leaving Éomer perplexed. He tuned back into the conversation only to find Erchirion had also joined Amrothos by Lothíriel's mare.

"I believe introductions will have to wait," Lothíriel said as she gave a brief nod in his direction. "I must hurry to the citadel to prepare for the welcome. We are already delayed as it is."

"Allow me to escort you there, my lady," Elfhelm offered with an elaborate bow. "Elfhelm, Marshal of the Mark. At your service."

The High Lady accepted his greeting with a small smile, "Well met, Marshal Elfhelm. We will be pleased to have your company."

Elfhelm whistled to call his horse and a young boy hastened to hand over the brown gelding. The Marshal quickly mounted and said his farewell, "Well lads, I shall see you on the other side. Good morn!"

"Until later, my lords." With that, the Lady of Dol Amroth and her party rode away into the city to await the King's return.

* * *

Lothíriel might not have shown it outwardly, but she was panicking inside. No amount of learning at Aunt Ivriniel's feet could have prepared her to receive the returned King. As soon as she had come to the palace gates, she had been ushered inside to be dressed for the occasion. While being bathed, she had listened to the Master of Ceremonies on the other side of the screen door as he told her the traditional protocol of the Welcome. Lord Túrin was succinct in his explanation and did not repeat himself for the third time. Though she was sure she had grasped everything the first time, the event was so significant that she worried she would misstep somehow. Not every day did you win the greatest war of your age and emerge the victor. This had to go perfectly, for her pride's sake if nothing else.

"My lady, are you ready?"

The handmaid's words alerted Lothíriel to the wasting time and she hurried to depart. Pausing in front of the mirror, she took one last look at her white-clad body and her unbound hair with the silver tiara; and giving her reflection a confident nod, she made her way out. They were to travel to the main gates of the city on the lowest level, but she was not allowed to ride her mare. Resigning herself to a stuffed carriage ride, she followed her maids to the courtyard where the rest of her escort waited. Not even her cousin, Dannasell, was allowed to accompany her; because now she was a representation of the Vala Nessa and that meant being treated as such.

Her time in the carriage was spent fretting over the details of the ceremony, which - while short - had become jumbled in her head due to overthinking. Lothíriel was barely holding herself as she was supposed to when she disembarked onto the cobbled street. Looking around at the gathered crowd, she took a deep breath and straightened her shoulders. Adopting the face many called arrogant, the High Lady strode to the gazebo that had been designated for her. A helper handed her the cup of victory and a freshly made wreath of laurel leaves. They both symbolised her status as the Lady of Victory.

Minutes later, an awed hush fell over the crowd as the King approached the barrier set in place of the destroyed gates. Lothíriel could not witness the happenings from her vantage point, but the voices she could vaguely make out if she strained her ears. The moment she heard a strong and deep voice address Faramir, she was sure that it was the King she had heard. And when he sang the oath of Elendil in a baritone, she could not help but acknowledge his title in a whisper, "Elessar King."

The rest of the crowning passed in a daze for her, and before long, the burst of trumpets and songs heralded his arrival. She watched as a tall man with the features of the Númenóreans of old calmly walked towards her. His eyes held a wisdom that spoke of an elven heritage, yet the silver in his hair marked him as one of the Edain. When he reached the foot of the raised platform she stood on, he kneeled with his right fist placed over his heart.

"Lady of Victory. I come before thee a humble man on bended knee, blessed by thy favour in battle. For the war was won by thy grace. Receive us now as men weary, yet victors by thy decree. And let thy boon sustain us in peace."

Hearing him so close felt surreal to Lothíriel; here was the King kneeling before her and she had not imagined this scenario in her wildest dreams. She suddenly had an irrational urge to run far away, but she recovered in time to speak in a clear voice, "Arise, Captain of Gondor. Arise as the Champion of thy people!"

He took to his feet and raised his chin to meet her gaze. Three steps down, his eyes were level with her collarbones and she deduced that he would stand at least a head taller than her on even ground. As his steel grey eyes met hers, the intensity in them gave her pause and her mind nearly blacked out. It was only her training as a lady of Dol Amroth that saved her from embarrassing herself then. She held out the silver gold cup to him, "Drink now to peace." Though her voice did not wobble, she was mortified to find that a tremor shook her hand as she waited for him to take the cup. The warm touch of fingers upon hers startled her into raising her eyes to his, that she had not even noticed she had lowered. He gave a smile of understanding as his large hands enveloped her smaller one and stopped the tremble there. As soon as he had taken the cup from her, she withdrew her hand and busied herself with holding the wreath with both hands for the next step. And though she could feel him studying her, Lothíriel did not meet his gaze.

When he handed the cup to the woman waiting on the sidelines, she raised the wreath high above them and spoke the words, "And bear this upon thy brow for a lasting victory." With that, she gently placed it on his bowed head. It was a bit difficult to balance it on top of the winged crown, but she carefully tucked the sides of the wreath into the metal, flattening the hair beside that in a gesture that felt too much like a caress. Realising what her hands had done without her consent, she blushed so strongly that she was sure everyone could see it for miles. His amused face told her what he thought of the touch, but she stopped her mind from pondering over that.

As he turned around to face the audience, she subtly stood on her tiptoes to be more visible and placing her hands on his broad shoulders, exclaimed loudly for all to hear, "Behold, People of Gondor! Behold your Champion. He who vanquished your enemies and emerged a winner. Rejoice in his victory and welcome him with praise!" A loud cheer broke out among the people and several shouts of 'Hail Champion', 'Elessar King', and even 'Lady of Victory' rang out in the vicinity.

Aragorn made to walk ahead, but Lothíriel on her tiptoes, not expecting the sudden movement, overbalanced. Yet somehow sensing her impending fall, Aragorn swiftly turned and caught her by her flailing arms as she tipped forward. His hands were so tight on her forearms that she worried he would leave bruises, but as soon as she steadied, he smoothly moved his hands down to grasp hers and made a show of kissing them. The whole sequence would not have taken more than a few seconds, and his quick thinking had also perhaps saved her from a public embarrassment. But her cheeks still burned with shame at her clumsiness and to her utter horror, she felt her eyes moisten. Avoiding his gaze, she blinked furiously to clear the tears and hearing his quietly murmured "My lady", she dared to raise her head. Aragorn's expression was compassion and concern rolled into one and Lothíriel wondered if not all of the rumours she heard about the King had been exaggerations. He offered her his arm and she lightly placed her hand there to let him guide her down. She expected him to release her once she was safely on level ground, but he steered her towards the northern route to the palace while he waved at the smiling people. Lothiriel had never felt more out of place than at that moment with her walking to the King's left on his arm.

"My King," she said to him in a hushed voice that sounded thin to her own ears. "Perhaps it would be better if you continued on your own. I do not belong here."

He looked at her from the corner of his eyes and replied without seemingly moving his mouth, "Why, my lady? Are you not the High Lady of Gondor?"

"Yes, but-" she spluttered.

"Then there is no one better to accompany me on my first tour of the city as the King."

His smile was knowing as he spared her a glance, but knowing what? That she could not say. So she gave a resigned sigh and smiled for the people lining the streets, steeling herself for another hour of public appearance.

* * *

It was not yet noon and Lothíriel already felt exhausted. They had halted for the night well past sunset the previous day, and been up before dawn to ride out at first light. After the two hours-long journey and the subsequent nerve-wracking ceremony, she barely had time to catch her breath before being accosted by the Mistress of the Royal Kitchens. As the High Lady, she was responsible for managing the Palatial Household and that entailed organising the night's feast to celebrate both the victory and the new King. Sorting out a menu had been a headache in itself, and now she was taking stock of the arrangements for the various items needed to house not only the royal guests but an extra army too. She felt woefully unprepared for the role; managing Dol Amroth had been easier as she was comfortable in her surroundings. But here within the cold walls and among unfamiliar faces, Lothíriel was always conscious of her very breath. She had just finalised the seating chart for the feast when a messenger hurried over to them.

"Lady Lothíriel," he greeted with a bow. "The King has called a meeting of the General Council."

Confused as to the purpose of the message, she replied, "If you're looking to inform my father, then I am afraid I have not seen him since after the coronation."

"Nay, my lady, you misunderstand. I was sent to retrieve you." Seeing her still frowning in bewilderment, he added, "The High Lady is a part of the General Council."

"Oh." The word was not enough to convey her bafflement over the fact. Lothiriel had completely forgotten the rare times when her Aunt Ivriniel would join her Uncle Denethor in Council meetings while she was visiting. And whereas she felt unprepared for being the High Lady before, now she actively dreaded it. Part of the King's Council!? Why had no one informed her priorly? Taking a calm breath, she asked, "And when has he called this meeting?"

"Right about now, my lady," the messenger's voice sounded apologetic. "It took me a while to locate you."

"Indeed," she said irritatingly; annoyed not at him, but at the way fate seemed intent on catching her off-guard today. "Well. Lead the way, good sir. Let us not keep the King waiting." With a tight smile to her helpers, she set off towards the Council room to face yet another surprise of the day.

By the time Lothíriel reached the meeting place, she had worked herself up to the point that she did not even bother smiling as she entered the room. With an expression that almost qualified as a scowl, the High Lady took her seat where Faramir indicated her to - which happened to be between him and her father. Faramir himself was seated to the right of the King, and she bowed her head jerkily in the latter's direction before turning to her father. Seeing Imrahil's kind face smiling at her, she lost some of her vexation and closed her eyes to savour the feel of his hand on her cheek. "Father," she sighed, taking a moment to gather her emotions.

"Daughter," the Prince's gruff voice held a tenderness reserved only for his children. "You look tired."

She gave a watery smile in answer, choosing not to reply as the last of the Council-members had taken their seats around the large oval table. After everyone present had been introduced, the meeting began.

"Lords and Lady," Steward Faramir began. "We are gathered here today at the behest of King Elessar to discuss the state of affairs in Gondor. My lord?"

Every eye turned to the head of the table where the King straightened in his chair to address them. "Members of the Council, I appreciate you all coming here on such short notice. As this is our first meeting, I wish to better acquaint myself with Gondor and her needs. We could start with each member stating the damage caused by the war and the repairs required in their respective interests."

Faramir nodded in agreement and looked around the table before halting at the other end, "Lord Sirgon. Perhaps you could inform us about Pelargir and we shall go from there."

"Certainly, Lord Steward," the Lord of Pelargir replied, before launching into an explanation of his fief's state.

Lothíriel tuned out the conversation as each lord took his turn to familiarize the King with his land. Instead, she was busy solving the problem of the shortage of rooms for the royal guests to stay in. With practically all of Gondor's nobility in Minas Tirith for the coronation, the palace was inadequate to house them all. The guest houses on the fifth level had been converted into sick wards for the injured, and the townhouses on the sixth were already full. There was no option but to ask the guests to share the rooms unless they wanted to sleep out in the open. ' _That_ ,' Lothíriel thought sarcastically, 'would go splendidly with some of the stuck up lords.' But she'd deal with those when the time came, no point worrying about it prematurely.

"Lady Lothíriel."

Her name being called jolted her out of her thoughts and she realized that all the lords had apparently finished providing their accounts. "Yes, my lord?" she asked, pretending as if she had been paying attention all along.

"Would you care to brief us on the state of the Royal Household?"

"Certainly, Lord Faramir," she smoothly answered. "The kitchens are facing a shortage, but with another consignment arriving within the week from Lossarnach, we will be able to comfortably ration the food for the duration of the Rohir army's stay." A grateful nod of acknowledgement was given to Lord Vangorn, who had taken up the Lordship of Lossarnach after his father, Forlong the Old, died in the Battle of the Pelennor Fields. "As for the bed-linens," Lothíriel continued, "we practically have very little to offer. Some of the beddings were used by the Houses of Healing for bandages, but most of our previous stores went into burying the dead."

"They used clean linens for the burials?" Lord Angbor's incredulous voice asked the question most of them were thinking of.

Feeling vindicated at the words, Lothíriel replied bitterly, "Indeed, my lord. We would have had a sufficient supply, if not for Captain Duilin deeming that decision prudent."

"I shall have words with the Captain, then," Faramir stated with a frown.

Aragorn, who had been silently listening with an assessing eye so far, spoke up, "How do you propose we solve this, my lady?"

Taken aback at his address, for she was not expecting him to put her on equal footing with all these men with far greater experience than her, Lothiriel waited a beat too long to answer. "I... I was thinking of limiting the number of sheets allotted to each person. Give them one sheet to use as they will, whether that be under or over them. With summer at its height, there should be no complaints of any chill, and this way we can accommodate every guest."

"A well-thought plan, my lady," the King remarked. "I am sure no one would have any objections." No one said a word as his gaze swept across the table. "Good."

"Moreover, my lord," she added, regaining her confidence, "The guests will have to share the rooms as well. Most rooms can easily fit four persons each. It would be a waste to put only two guests each as is the norm."

"I agree. Do as you will, Lady Lothíriel," Aragorn gave his go ahead. "Is there anything else to be brought to attention?"

Lothíriel nodded in affirmation, "While the Houses of Healing have enough medicines to treat the wounded at present, I believe they would not be able to handle any large-scale emergency in the near future. Should any outbreak happen, the casualties will be high."

"The lady speaks true," Lord Duinhir of Blackroot Vale said, "The city is especially vulnerable to contagious diseases after the battle."

"We can start a public awareness campaign," Prince Imrahil suggested. "Make sure that the proper standards of hygiene and sanitation are maintained."

Aragorn rubbed his chin in thought, "A wise course of action, my friend. Lord Faramir, can you direct the appropriate resources to this end?"

"Of course, my King."

"That is settled then," Aragorn's voice held a finality to it. "I thank you all for your invaluable contributions today. I have been made aware that I need to choose a Privy Council as well. Rest assured that I will do so post-haste. Lord Faramir, I shall require your guidance on the matter." The Steward assented with a nod and the King continued, "If there is nothing else, I believe this meeting is adjourned."

Lothíriel waited for the other lords to stand up before taking to her feet. The hunger pangs in her stomach made her realise that it was past lunch time and the meeting had stretched for two hours. She tried not to worry about lunch arrangements as Mistress Calawen was a meticulous woman who had things well in hand even without Lothíriel's input. Her main concern now was to check the decorations in the main hall for tonight's feast. As she exited the door, lost in her own thoughts, a hand on her shoulder stopped her. She turned to find her father studying her with a thoughtful gaze.

"Thíri," he said warmly. "You make me proud."

Hearing those unsolicited words broke something within her and she threw herself in her father's arms with a cry. "Oh, Ada!" Her father's approval - which she didn't even know she was waiting for - made it all worth it.

* * *

After the eventful day he'd had, Aragorn was ready to call it a night and the main course had not even been served. Between his coronation, the council meeting, and then the long talks in his study regarding the immediate steps to be taken, Aragorn was feeling exhaustion creep up on him. But there was a whole feast in his honour to go through before he could attempt sleeping.

_"What is the matter, my friend? You look far too forlorn for a newly crowned king."_

He looked up at Legolas' question to find his friend watching him with a smirk on his fair face, but Aragorn could detect the underlining concern for him. He'd barely seen the Fellowship all day, or any of his brothers-at-arms for that matter, embroiled as he was in affairs of State. This was what he was worried about: an end to life as he knew it. No longer was he a wandering ranger who could take up dangerous quests at his whim. Now he had a kingdom to look after and far greater responsibilities than that of a Chieftain.

_"Not forlorn, no,"_  he spoke in Sindarin, just as the elf had.  _"Just burdened with kingship."_

Legolas made a sympathetic noise,  _"That you always were. In one way or the other."_

Aragorn huffed in discontent; he wanted to say 'no, not like this', but he held his tongue for he doubted Legolas would understand. The Prince had always known who he was, not like Aragorn who was called Estel growing up and dreamed of slaying Balrogs than ruling a kingdom. He would not grasp the turmoil that came with having your life changed completely at 20, and then living with the sins of your ancestors hanging over your head, living in the fear that you would succumb to the same fate to the doom of all. Or warring with your own destiny but wanting it all the same as it was the only thing that could unite with the one you loved, and then having that same love ripped away from you just as you were on the brink of fulfilling it. And while Aragorn had done as destiny demanded, he had none of the comforts to show for it. Nay, Legolas would not -  _could not -_  understand that.

"Whatever the pointy elf says, he says true," Gimli's rough voice interjected from Legolas' others side. "You look worn out laddie, and not the good kind."

Aragorn huffed out a half-hearted laugh but was saved from replying by the arrival of their second course. He did not have the energy to field questions from his friends and the food seemed as good a distraction as any. But before he could taste it, a carefree laugh drew his attention to where Éowyn was seated beside Faramir. The Steward and the Witch-King slayer looked comfortable with each other on a level that implied a deeper attachment. And Aragorn was both relieved and envious. Rejecting her had been one of the worst moments of his life and to see her hale and hearty now with Faramir, assuaged some of his guilt over her heartbreak.

"Aragorn," Legolas called quietly and he turned his eyes to the elf with an inquisitive look. " _This_ ," the elf gestured to their plates on the table, "I believe, is duck of some kind."

Aragorn immediately pierced a piece with his fork and took a sniff. The Prince was right, it was surely of the avian variety. Though Aragorn - as a ranger - was not a picky eater, birds had never sat well with his stomach. So he avoided them lest he got an upset digestion. Legolas had already called for an attendant to take it away, and Aragorn asked the man, "Is there anything else you could bring me?"

The young man nodded hesitatingly and with his head still down, replied, "My King, there is no alternative on the royal menu. But I could get you the course that was served at the lower tables."

"That would do-" Aragorn paused meaningfully, waiting for a name.

"Daeron, my lord."

"Daeron. Thank you for your help."

"My King." The man bowed low once again and briskly walked away to do as asked.

But Daeron did not return alone some time later. Before him marched an infuriated Lady Lothíriel, who stalked up to the high table and gave a swift curtsy, while the attendant scrambled to set the new meal in front of Aragorn.

"Elessar King," the lady said in a tight voice, putting Aragorn on guard. She did not look happy at all.

"Lady Lothíriel," he greeted her pleasantly despite the tension radiating from her.

"My lord, the Cook just came to me in hysterics, claiming that the King was displeased with the food. Is there a problem, my liege?" The lady's challenging tone raised one too many eyebrows around the table as its occupants had stopped eating to witness the exchange.

"Nay, my lady," Aragorn said calmly. "I find no fault in the food, but in my own constitution as it cannot stomach duck or the meat of any bird as it happens."

Pausing at the new information, Lothíriel's mouth thinned even more. "Then why were we not informed about the King's preferences beforehand?"

Wincing at the irked stance of the lady, Aragorn wondered where the nervous girl from the morning had gone. Or the wise councilwoman that handled obstacles with thoughtfulness. This peeved behaviour seemed uncharacteristic of the lady he had seen so far.

Ignoring the question in favour of addressing the root cause, Aragorn placated, "I assure you, lady, there is no offence caused. If you so wish, I could talk to the Cook and tell her the same."

Lothíriel looked at him for a long time and when she spoke, she seemed less irate, "There is no need of that, my King. I will take care of the upset. Please, enjoy your meal."

She departed with a bow, leaving a tense table behind. The silence was broken by Gimli commenting impassively, "The lass sure has the guts of a dwarf."

"Better than having the guts of a duck," Éomer quipped at Aragorn's expense. And just like that, the tension evaporated and the table went back to eating with laughter.

Later, when all three courses had been served and the singers had started their songs, Aragorn stood conversing with some lords about this and that. During a lull in the conversation, Lord Angbor of Lamedon spotted a figure among the crowd and called, "Lothíriel! Just the niece I was looking for."

The lady in the blue dress turned towards their group and joined them with a smile. "I am your only niece, Uncle."

Giving a hearty laugh, the heavy-built man patted her shoulder and said, "And all the more precious for that."

Lord Túrin, speaking up for the first time since joining the cluster, commented, "My lady, it is fortunate that you are here. For it is customary for the Champion and the High Lady to dance at the victory feast."

Aragorn found himself the subject of a wary gaze and he looked at Lady Lothíriel to meet the same. He made to say something, but she beat him to it.

"But not always, Lord Túrin," she said to the Master of Ceremonies while still holding his eye.

"Yes, of course, my lady. Only if you two wish to."

Aragorn thought of the expectations they had of him as the newly crowned King and decided to start with dancing. He would have to take the floor at least once before the night is through. Might as well do it with Lothíriel. "My lady," he addressed her, "it would be a pleasure to share a dance with you."

She poorly hid an amused smile before answering, "Certainly, my lord. Shall we?"

He took her by the hand and walked towards the dancing area. The crowd parted easily to allow them access and a hush fell over the hall as the music stopped. Their march and bow before the dance were done in silence and as they straightened from the latter, a slow music started up. For Aragorn, it had been years since he last danced at a feast. Celebrations in Rivendell were a lot laid back than the court revelry in Gondor or say, Mirkwood. But that did not mean that he had forgotten the steps, and as he chastely took the lady in his arms, his feet started moving of their accord.

Neither spoke for their first turn about the room, but on the second round, Lothíriel softly said, "I am sorry, my lord; my behaviour earlier tonight was despicable. 'Tis just... It has been a long and tiring day. But I should not have taken it out on you," she paused to sheepishly peek up at him, " _Least_  of all you."

He observed the woman before him - such different personas packed in one. "There is nothing to forgive, my lady. It is natural for you to be overwhelmed by the weight of the responsibility suddenly thrust on you."

She eyed him shrewdly, "You speak as if from experience."

"Heavy is the head that wears the crown." And no one understood that better than Aragorn.

"And a head that sits  _that_  tall must be heavier still."

The abrupt levity of her statement startled a laugh out of him, making their rapt audience perk up in interest. She seemed as surprised as him, but whether that was at herself or his unexpected laugh, he did not know. "You certainly have a way with words, Lady Lothíriel."

Smiling wryly, she retorted, "The wrong way, you mean", drawing another chuckle from him. After a comfortable pause, she spoke again, "I must also thank you." At his confused look, she elaborated, "For saving me the embarrassment of being the only representation of Nessa that was so clumsy as to fall during the Welcome itself."

Her flair for the dramatic amused him, but sensing a deeper insecurity underlying that, he wisely said, "I do not know what you speak of, my lady."

She narrowed her eyes at him, shaking her head as if she knew what he was trying to do. "You are most kind to allow me my dignity in this, my King. But tell me, how did you..."

And even though she didn't finish her question, he understood what she was asking. So he answered the unspoken query, "I knew you were nervous. I was too. But I have had more experience hiding it. I did what I would have wanted someone else to do, were I in your place."

They lapsed in silence after that, content to dance the rest while lost in their thoughts. As the music came to an end, Lothíriel picked up their conversation again, "Be that as it may. You have my gratitude. And if there comes a time when you find yourself in my place, I would be honoured to return the favour."

"Indeed, my lady," he said, inclining his head in acquiescence.

"Please, call me Lothíriel," she requested. "For something tells me that we shall be seeing a lot more of each other. At least until I am the High Lady no more."

The last part of her statement puzzled him, but he paid it no mind for the moment. "Lothíriel, then I am Aragorn to you."

"Aragorn." With that, she curtsied and turned away, leaving a bemused King behind.


	4. Betrothals New and Old

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lothíriel has a spat, another Council meeting, heart-to-heart with Aragorn, sibling advice, and a funeral.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi guys! Sorry for the delay, my sister was in town. This is not beta-ed so any mistakes are mine. Thanks for the kudos! Reviews are always welcome :)

Lothíriel had slept like the dead the night of the feast and it seemed barely any time had passed before she was being woken up to start the day. She had gone to bed only after making sure the guests had settled in comfortably for the night. No one would have been up early after the feasting they'd partaken in, but she had still instructed for the breakfast to be ready accordingly and had set the menu for the day. Still, she was awakened at 7 and was unsurprised to find her roommates asleep. Lothíriel was sharing her room with Éowyn, Dannasell, and Lady Grishild - the latter's mother and the former's first cousin. When she had returned to her room late at night, Lothíriel had found the three talking. Even after she had said her goodnights, she could hear the hushed conversation until she fell into oblivion. So yes, she would not expect them to be waking anytime soon.

Dressed and ready to face the day, Lothíriel went to join her father and brothers in the Prince's townhouse on the sixth level. The three-bedroom structure also housed King Éomer and his marshals as well as Lord Angbor and his sons for the time being. Though when she reached there, she was surprised to find that Éomer and Angbor had left for a morning ride. That left Lothíriel to spend some much-needed alone time with her family. But the night's rest did nothing to help her tiredness and she struggled to keep her eyes open at breakfast, let alone make conversation.

"If I did not know better, sister, I would say that you have been up all night," Erchirion remarked jovially. It was no secret that the youngest child of Imrahil loved her sleep and if allowed, she would spend the whole day dreaming.

Giving an exasperated look his way, she grouchily replied, "It certainly felt like it."

"What - one day as the High Lady and you're done?"

Amrothos' words pressed on her already frayed nerves and she snapped bitterly, "At least I did something worthwhile, Amrothos. Rather than swanning off to have sparring competitions with the elves."

"Lothíriel." The quiet reprimand came from Imrahil, who was looking disapprovingly at the bickering siblings.

"'Tis true, father!" Lothíriel protested.

"Why do you two have to butt heads so much?" Elphir sighed from Imrahil's right.

Lothíriel turned to look at him in betrayal, "He started it."

"And you being the High Lady wisely ignored it," Amrothos taunted, sliding further down his chair in a careless lounge.

"You sound jealous, brother," she retorted. "Should I give you a dress and call you High Lady?"

"After that performance of yours yesterday? Sure. I am certain that I, in a dress, could do better." Amrothos paused deliberately before adding with a scoff, "Without falling and embarrassing our house that is."

"How dare you!?" Lothíriel shouted, standing up from her chair abruptly.

At the same time, Imrahil scolded in a stern voice, "Amrothos, that's enough." Chastised, the youngest son sobered up before Imrahil added, "Cease this childish behaviour both of you and apologise to each other."

Neither made a move to obey and as Amrothos continued to stare at the tabletop with a frown, Lothíriel fumed silently in indignation. When the silence had stretched for too long, she turned to leave but stopped to utter a final remark, "With family like you, I do not need strangers to make a mockery of me on the streets." Head held high, she stalked out of the townhouse with her guard joining her from the gates, ignoring the calls of her name from her family. There were not many people out and about at that hour, so she made her hasty walk towards the level's exit uninterrupted until she reached the pathway to the uppermost tier.

A loud clattering and a shrill neigh alerted Lothíriel to approaching riders and she spun on her heels just as her guard, Zîrkil, harshly pulled her out of the horse's way. The black beast was brought to a sudden halt mere feet away from her as the rider made a sharp turn to avoid trampling them. Safely ensconced within Zîrkil's trusty arms, she looked up to see the stormy face of the Rohir King seated atop the giant warhorse.

"Have a care, lady!" Éomer snapped, his nostrils visibly flaring. "You could have-" He abruptly paused then, staring at Lothíriel as if only really noticing her now. "My lady. Where are you hurt?"

Confused by his frantic question, she furrowed her brows and stepped away from her guard. "I am not hurt, Éomer King."

He had dismounted from his steed by then and moved towards her with a concerned face. "But you are crying!"

At his words, Lothíriel touched her cheek to find it wet and realised that she indeed had been silently crying all this time, probably from the very moment she left the house. Wiping her tears away furiously, she looked up to dispel any misunderstanding when she noticed the other riders behind Éomer, who were returning to the palace. Turned out that the riding party of Rohan and Lamedon had been joined by Aragorn and his elven friends. Flushing at the unnecessary scrutiny of the others, she self-consciously pulled her right ear - a nervous tick she had since childhood - and focused her attention on the worried horse-lord. "My lord, you need not worry. I remain unharmed, thanks to your and Zîrkil's quick reflexes. I apologise for the scare, for I was quite lost in my thoughts before I noticed your approach. But really, I am not hurt."

"Are you sure, cousin?" The sceptical voice belonged to Aglaron, eldest son and second child of Angbor and Grishild of Lamedon.

"Yes, quite," Lothíriel answered with a small smile. She was not as close to Aglaron as she was to Dannasell, but they had spent much time together growing up all the same. His grim demeanour often kept people away and Lothíriel was no exception to that, but they both enjoyed taking long walks together, soaking up the silent comfort of an accepting companion.

"Are you headed to the palace, Lothíriel?" Lord Angbor asked.

"Indeed, uncle."

"Come on, we shall take you there." He made a gesture for her to climb up behind him on his horse, "You can ride with me."

"Oh no no, uncle. It is only one storey up! I shall be fine on foot," she reassured. "Please, go ahead. Do not hesitate on my account."

"Then let us accompany you on the walk back," Aragorn offered, speaking for the first time.

Lothíriel, who had ignored him so far, bowed her head a bit as she answered, "There is no need of that, my king."

"Nay. We insist, my lady," Éomer interjected.

"Well," she drawled hesitantly. "As you wish, my lords."

At that, all riders - elves and men alike - dismounted and took the reins of their steeds in hand to lead them the rest of the way. Meanwhile, Lothíriel and Zîrkil shared a disbelieving glance: here were kings, princes, and lords stepping down to escort her back. This was nobility at its best.

"Lothíriel."

It took a moment for her to place the soft, smooth voice as the sound of her own name. And noticing Aragorn - who had come up beside her - as the speaker, she was not surprised. His voice had a distinct feel to it, but hearing his cultured northern elvish lilt in the syllables of her name was an unexpected euphony.

"Aragorn," Lothíriel greeted. And instead of replying verbally, he held up a piece of cloth for her to take. She curiously took the article to find it was a kerchief, "Oh." Meeting his gaze in gratitude, she clutched the soft fabric to her mouth. He inclined his head in quiet acceptance of her equally unspoken thanks, and she carefully wiped her face to remove any evidence of her tears.

As their party progressed towards their destination, she expected him to ask questions about her discomposed appearance earlier. Questions that she was unwilling to answer. But he didn't. He was just a silent but comforting presence by her side as they walked, and Lothíriel was left marvelling at his uncanny ability to always know just what she needed.

* * *

The next day, there was another meeting scheduled for the General Council, which Lothíriel had been thankfully informed of in advance. Though she was sure that she would not have anything much of consequence to add to the meeting, she still made her way towards the Council Chamber as late afternoon approached. And she was proven right when the King and the Steward laid out their strategy of tackling the massive repairs and development programs to be undertaken. Aragorn's good terms with dwarves and elves both came into crucial play for their plans to establish new and better trade as well as diplomatic relations with the various realms of Arda. Several envoys were already en route to Minas Tirith to greet the newly crowned king. It would be a busy week for them all.

After the progress plans, the King then named his Privy Council, consisting of the Ministers of Defence, Law, Finance, and Welfare, along with the Steward who was an ex officio member. The Privy Council would be responsible for the day-to-day management of the kingdom once constituted and the General Council would only meet quarterly or at the pleasure of the King. Since the General Council consisted of representatives from all fiefs along with the High Lady and ambassadors, if any, it was sometimes difficult for all members to maintain their presence every day in the city. Hence a more compact advisory council was needed for the King. Lothíriel was unsurprised when her father, Prince Imrahil, was named the Minister of Law. Aragorn and Imrahil were good friends and it was natural for the former to surround himself with friends in an unfamiliar environment. Not to mention that Imrahil was more than qualified for the post: Dol Amroth had had the lowest crime rates in Gondor consistently for years past. So Aragorn had made an apt choice for handling the law and order of his kingdom in Lothíriel's opinion.

It was when they were wrapping up the meeting that Lord Duinhir of the Blackroot Vale spoke up, "Elessar King. I have a matter that I think this Council should discuss before adjourning."

"Please proceed, Lord Duinhir," Aragorn motioned for him to continue.

With a respectful nod, Lord Duinhir said, "My lord, no one here knows the importance of having an heir more than I do." His statement was true enough, for he had lost both his grown sons in the War and was now left with a childless widowed daughter. "I was blessed with two sons, yet I sit here now with the question of succession hanging over my head. Life is not certain, we are here today and gone tomorrow. So I ask you, my liege, what about the royal line? You are the last and only heir of Elendil. Valar forbid, if something were to happen to you, we would be left at no better place than we were before."

"Lord Duinhir speaks true," Lord Angbor stated. "The royal succession must be secured. We need an heir, my lord, but before that, we need a queen."

Faramir fixed a considerate look on Aragorn as he asked, "Do you have any lady promised to you, my king?"

And even several feet away, Lothíriel could detect the slight dimming of Aragorn's eyes as he replied, "Nay, Lord Faramir. I have not had the fortune yet."

"Then with your permission, my lord, we need to look for a queen."

Aragorn grimaced slightly at Faramir's words, "Should we not get Gondor back on her feet first?"

"With all due respect, King Elessar," Lord Sirgon's gravelly voice cut in. "Giving Gondor a queen would be a part of getting our country stable again. Peace has been hard won and we need the assurance of a steady future now more than ever. Having an heir in line to the throne would soothe many agitated minds."

A resigned acceptance entered Aragorn's eyes then, "If that is the wish of the Council, then I shall agree. Whom does the Council propose?"

"What about Lady Éowyn?" Lord Angbor mused and Lothíriel quirked her eyebrow in interest. The sooner she got rid of the 'High Lady' title, the better. Living in the city, she was beginning to realise why her Aunt Finduilas never thrived here. "She is a woman of noble birth, the Rohir King's sister no less," Angbor continued, "and a marital tie between the thrones of Gondor and Rohan would bolster our relations." A nervous movement drew Lothíriel's attention to Faramir, who was fidgeting uncomfortably in his seat. The action was quite uncharacteristic of her cousin and she wondered what seemed to be bothering him.

"I would not recommend her as a candidate," Lord Sirgon commented carefully. The Lord of Pelargir was a well-connected and wealthy man, who had ears in the right places. "My king, much as it seems absurd to me, there are a few factions in Gondor who consider you an outsider. Especially with your pardoning of the Easterlings yesterday, there is some discontent brewing in hidden corners. To bring another non-Gondorian into the royal house would not sit well with these people. And perhaps not only with them."

"That is preposterous," Lord Dervoin, son of Lord Borhador of the Ringló Vale, opined. "Our king is as much a Gondorian as any other."

With a humble expression, Aragorn said, "Thank you, Lord Dervoin, for your support. But if Lord Sirgon has reason to believe that there is disquiet among the people because of my lack of Gondorian upbringing, then perhaps we should heed his advice and look for a Gondorian queen."

Faramir perked up at that and added to the conversation, "The simplest path would be to rank the unmarried ladies according to their position and suitability, then choose the best."

For a moment, it felt like time stopped and then all eyes slowly turned towards Lothíriel, who had listened to the discussion with increasing apprehension. At first, she closed her eyes, then opened them to unerringly find Faramir's that were widened apologetically, and his mouth had turned down in dismay as he realised the implications of his words.

"Lady Lothíriel?" The rhetorical question came from Imrahil, but his daughter could hear the faint strangled sound that accompanied it.

"She is the High Lady," Lord Duinhir asserted, and Lothíriel bristled at the way they all talked about her as if she was not there. Sensing her nettled mood, the Lord of Blackroot Vale then addressed her, "You are the obvious choice, my lady."

"And do I get a say in this 'choice' or do you all decide that for me?" Lothíriel retorted scathingly.

"My lady." The smooth tone coaxed her into softening her glare and turning to face the King. He gave an understanding smile at her riled expression and said, "Mayhaps we could talk before deciding anything and informing the Council thereafter." His subtle but strict emphasis on 'informing' was not missed by anyone.

Lothíriel seethed for a second longer, thinking of refusing the suggestion just to spite the other lords, but her more reasonable side won out and she conceded, "Of course, my lord."

* * *

"My lord Aragorn."

The formal address told Aragorn much about Lothíriel's disposition at that moment. After the council meeting had ended on the tense note of their proposed match, Aragorn had stopped Lothíriel in the hallway to ask her to meet him in the gardens at twilight. He had been as reluctant as she seemed to discuss their prospects, but needs must.

"Lady Lothíriel," he greeted, turning around to face her. And the way the last rays of the sun hit her brown eyes, making them seem liquid like honey, he was reminded of another similar pair that glowed like ambers in the light of lamps. "You have the bearings of your mother."

She visibly expressed her surprise in the upturn of her eyebrows, "You knew my mother?"

"I met Lady Aeriel just the once when my men and I stayed in Lamedon," he replied, thinking of faces beheld long before. "It was for a day or two after the battle with the Corsair ships some decades ago. She was no older than you are now and a most consummate hostess. I have never met anyone more versed in the matters of the Valar outside of the Elvenkind since then." His conversation with the daughter of Angrod of Lamedon was quite enlightening. She provided a take on the lore and legends of old that was refreshing to hear for someone who had grown up hearing the elven versions.

"She must have been an interesting enough dinner companion for you to remember her," Lothíriel commented wryly, eyeing him speculatively.

"She was," Aragorn agreed, and started to walk, motioning for her to join him. "If one was not inclined to remember her for her beauty. That you share."

The blush that coated her cheeks at the compliment somehow looked uneasy as she averted her eyes. And he cursed himself for saying that as this was not the time to be the charming Estel of Imladris. They both had a new facet of their relationship to negotiate, and his compliments, no matter how genuine, would only strain the delicate balance.

"That is awfully kind of you, my lord. But some would not agree with your praise of my mother's scholarly endeavours," she remarked in an acerbic tone, something he recognised was not directed at him. "They say she died of her own folly; invested her life in what she should not have."

Aragorn had heard of her tragic death from Imrahil. Being a descendant of one of the Faithful, he understood the importance the Edraith festival held for the devoted. Not many Dúnedain made the journey to Tolfalas to pay homage to their old lifestyle in Númenór, but it was still considered the one pilgrimage every Faithful should make once. There was so little of their culture left in Arda that the Númenóreans clung to whatever semblance of heritage they had left.

"Many men have lost their faith when such all-encompassing darkness stood at their doors," he commented thoughtfully. "So they scorn those who would keep faith, like your mother. Do not take their words to heart, my lady, for only the strong have the will to hope and believe when the very air around them commands not to."

Lothíriel pondered over his words and after a long pause, said, "Then I will admit to my weakness. When word of Boromir's death reached us, that was the moment my doubts took hold of me. I wondered why. Why was all this bloodshed happening? Was this punishment? The wrath of the Valar come upon the mortals once again?" She got more impassioned as she spoke, for long had she wondered over these questions by herself in some dark room. The War had taught her fear like no other. "At that moment, I had no hope for a future. If Gondor's bravest captain could fall, if my uncle Angbor could fear for his family's safety in their own home, if my father could say goodbye as if he was never to return; then indeed we were doomed."

"But that moment passed, did it not?" Aragorn asked, meeting her despairing eyes with an assuring look in his own. "And you overcame your fear to drive back the corsairs from your homeland. If that is not strength of will, then we all are weak."

Lothíriel had been left in charge of Dol Amroth while her father and brothers had ridden for Minas Tirith. Aragorn had learned of the corsairs attacking the sea-side city when they were preparing for their march to the Black Gate. That was perhaps the first time he had heard of Lothíriel, Lady of Dol Amroth, and her late but successful defence of her home.

"I hardly think you would fall victim to the claws of despair, Aragorn."

Her incredulous tone drew a wry huff of amusement out of him. "Believe me, Lothíriel, despair and I are old friends. I have despaired a great many things in my long life; my destiny the most."

She looked taken aback by that. "You did not wish to be the King? To be the one to restore Isildur's line to Gondor?"

"I do not," he informed her in a deadpan. "The burden of my heritage is not easy to bear. I was content to live my life in the wild as a ranger; like my father and his father before him. But I do not have the luxury of choice. Mankind needed a symbol to follow. I was that and no more."

"You are mistaken, my lord," Lothíriel stated, her voice confident and assuring. "You were much more than that. Men saw hope in you, a beacon of light that would vanquish the darkness, the one who would defeat Sauron. You did all that and beyond. They believed in you when all notions of faith were abandoned. And you did not disappoint; you won the war for them."

Oh, how wrong she was. Aragorn was not so self-consumed as to think that he had won the war. He told her as much, "I did not win the war. It was Frodo with his solemn resolution; Samwise with his steadfast loyalty; Merry and Pippin with their hidden bravery; Lady Éowyn with her defiance; King Theoden with his alliance; Boromir with his sacrifice; Legolas and Gimli with their friendship; Gandalf with his guidance; Éomer, Faramir, Imrahil and all the others with their leadership; every soldier that marched knowing certain death awaited him; and every woman, child, and infirm left at home who prayed for our victory and safe return." He paused then, taking a deep breath and releasing it loudly. Meeting her eyes, he said with conviction, "Nay, my lady, 'tis was not I who won this war."

Lothíriel pinned him with a searching gaze, and he felt as if she was weighing his belief in his own words. "That may be so," she said after some minutes, "but you would be the one to lead them in peace. My father always says that a leader's true mettle is not tested in battle, but in peacetime when there is no common enemy to unite against."

"Prince Imrahil is a wise man."

"And that is why, in all his wisdom, he has asked me to consider this match, Aragorn." The easy segue into the reason for their meeting impressed him. Immediately he steeled himself to deal with some uncomfortable truths as she continued, "With the Lady of Rohan and my cousin so taken with each other, I am the most suitable bride for the King of Gondor."

"Lothíriel... if it were within my powers, I would never have asked you to forfeit your happiness to provide Gondor with a queen," he confessed with a sad frown marring his noble face. "But oftentimes a King is more powerless than the people he rules over. And so it is that I am in search of a wife when marriage should be the farthest thing on my mind."

"You said that you're asking me to forfeit my happiness," she pointed out astutely. "Will I have cause to be unhappy with you?"

"I will not do you the discourtesy of lying to you, Lothíriel. Have you heard talks of an elf maiden? Arwen Undómiel, daughter of Lord Elrond of Imladris?" He loathed that Arwen was now an easy point of gossip for the people. Though he usually never paid attention to idle rumours, he had not ignored the talks among the soldiers. He did not know who had said it first, but now most of Gondor knew that he had loved and lost an elf-maiden.

"I have," Lothíriel answered uneasily, shifting on her feet to put distance between them unconsciously. "I take it the rumours are true then. You love her."

"Yes, and now she has long sailed to the shores of Valinor."

"I am sorry to hear that, my lord," she said, with enough emotion in her words that he believed her. "But if I may ask: why? Why did she leave? Did she not love you back?"

He fell silent at that, gazing at the stars that were just beginning to twinkle in the night sky. When he replied, his voice was laden with a deep and heavy sorrow, "Elves only love once in their lifetime and she chose me. She was ready to forsake her immortality to spend a lifetime at my side. Her father, though, wished for her to join her kindred in the Undying Lands, instead of waiting for a man to win a nigh impossible war. Alas, she was taken by darkness and she had little choice but to sail west lest she faded out of life. Yet I do not begrudge her her departure. Were I not an heirless King, I would have spent my days keeping our memories alive as she would do in Aman. But I have a duty to my people and must set aside the man to become the King."

Lothíriel took a few minutes to let that sink in. Her brow was furrowed and her eyes had adopted a puzzled look. "Will I be marrying the King then? Who will look upon his Queen with a gaze heavy with duty, not shining with love?"

At that, he closed his eyes to gather his willpower. It had not been easy to tell Éowyn that he could not give her what she desired. And here he was now, saying the same words, but asking the lady to stay and marry him. He had spared Éowyn the pain of a husband who loved another, but he could not do so for Lothíriel, or whoever was fated to be his wife. "If that is what you desire from your husband, my lady, then there is a man out there for you, but that man is not me. I cannot promise you love when my heart belongs to another and will continue to yearn for her."

She hummed in acknowledgement, squaring her shoulders and stopping at the diverging pathway. "I thank you for your honesty, Aragorn. I will let my father know of my choice. Have a good evening."

"You too, Lothíriel," he replied as she curtsied and walked away. But he continued to stare at the bend she had disappeared around and contemplated if he had gained a wife or lost one.

* * *

Lothíriel spent the rest of the evening in her room, mulling over the proposal. She wanted to say no, to not compromise with her choices again. With Boromir, she had had no option but to say yes, as her uncle's imposing shadow loomed over her future. But this time, she could refuse and there will be no repercussions. At least not for her. That was the catch, wasn't it? As compassionate as Aragorn was, he had outright denied any possibility of love between them. And she could not, in good conscience, leave another to a loveless fate in her stead. If not Lothíriel, then they would next turn to her cousin Dannasell, or maybe the even younger Lady Alcariel of Pelargir. And Aragorn had already changed so much. Just yesterday they had shared an easy camaraderie when walking back to the palace, but today, he was distant in a way that he never was, not even when they were not on a first-name basis. To think that he would treat a stranger with more warmth than his own prospective wife! Was this what life would be for whoever wedded him?

Seeing no resolution to her turmoil, she sent a servant to fetch Elphir to her solar. It was after dinnertime and her father would strongly disapprove of her wandering between the levels. Thankfully she had a small solar to herself, that was more a tiny balcony than a solar. Sharing a room with three others had its advantages, but it left them with little privacy. So she was quite fortunate to have an office of sorts as the High Lady.

Before long, her eldest brother was knocking on the door.

"So what can I do for you, sister?" he asked as they settled down with a glass of wine each.

Swirling the red liquid around in her cup, she quietly said, "I need your advice."

"Is this concerning your marriage?" That was what Lothíriel loved about Elphir: he was perceptive and offered a measured advice.

"Yes," she replied, "I do not know what to decide."

Pinning her with a considering look, Elphir spoke, "If you want to say no, Thíri, you can. There is no compulsion on you now. You did your duty when you accepted Boromir's offer. And now you are his bereaved for all intents and purposes. No one would think twice about your refusal of Aragorn."

"But then the Council would turn to someone else!" she cried. That was what was bothering her the most: that if not her, then some other woman. "And those rumours are true, Elphir. Our king is in love with an elleth - who has already sailed for Valinor. If I say no, they would surely turn to Dannasell and we both know that her grandmother would never let her turn the offer down." Lady Dúlinn was an ambitious woman who ruled the household in Lamedon with complete authority. And her son, Lord Angbor, respected her too much to ever really defy her. "Can you imagine such a loveless marriage for Dannasell? That hopeless romantic who's probably already half gone for Rohan's King!?"

"And you think I would encourage my little sister to enter into this wedlock herself?" Elphir objected, incredulity marring his tone.

"Yes," she answered, then amended quickly, "No. I don't know!"

He sighed loudly, setting aside his own wine in order to take her hand, "Lothíriel. Are you here for my advice or for my seal of approval for whatever you've already decided?"

"Oh, Mandos take you! Why do you have to say everything so straight from the shoulder?" And this was what she didn't like about Elphir at times: he never beat around the bush, even if it was difficult to face.

"If you really want my counsel, then I'll tell you that Aragorn is a good man. Perhaps the best there is. He would keep you content, if not happy. You know happiness is-"

"Found within not without," she completed. It was something that their mother used to say when they were upset. Aeriel believed that everyone was made self-sufficient and needed no outside help to become what they were meant to be.

"Right," Elphir said, smiling fondly. "As for the matter of love, then know this: the heart is no match for the tide of time."

That caught Lothíriel's attention, "What? Do you think that maybe someday he'll love me?"

"I cannot know what will happen, Thíri. But then neither can he."

"Hmm," she harrumphed in thought. Aragorn had seemed so sure when he said that he'll never love another, but Elphir was right, he was no seer to be certain about that, not even his own feelings into his future.

A thoughtful silence settled over them for a while, which Lothíriel broke by whispering quietly, "What am I doing Elphir? I should be sneaking about in the stables with some handsome Rohir or fawning over those elven princes; not thinking about marrying a heartbroken king four times my age."

Elphir squeezed the hands he still held in his, "Let us be honest, sister, you have never been one to 'sneak about the stables' or fawn over elves. And Aragorn is not so old considering his Númenórean ancestry. Besides, you are attracted to maturity, Thíri. It was not Boromir's good looks or his prowess in battle that cracked your walls, but his wisdom in treating you with patience that softened your heart towards him."

"What are you implying?" She withdrew her hands from his grasp to wrap around herself tightly. Narrowing her eyes, she asked sharply, "That I like our king?"

"I never said-"

"No. You're wrong," Lothíriel declared. "If I wanted a man I was attracted to, I would have accepted Ser Malvegil's offer long ago. But I did not because I knew I had a duty to my house as the only daughter of Prince Imrahil. I just never imagined that my duty would lead me to the returned king."

"You had a duty with Boromir too," he pointed out, voice growing tight. "But we all remember how you raged against that match. Accept it Lothíriel: were Aragorn not a man of your inclination, you would not consider saying yes at all."

She glared at him for a long moment before saying in a controlled tone, "I gain nothing by this marriage. Except for a title. He has made that abundantly clear. And I am not playing the martyr here, Elphir, merely choosing the sensible solution to an inevitable situation."

He chose not to reply to that but gave her a look that was reminiscent of Imrahil's shrewd stare. But Lothíriel ignored him and they silently finished their wine before saying their goodbyes. And that night, Lothiriel went to sleep wondering if she really was agreeing out of some misplaced sense of duty or because it was Aragorn she would be marrying.

* * *

"Is there any other matter to be discussed by the council?" Faramir's gaze swept around the table at the Councilmen gathered there. It was the end of their very first Privy Council meeting, which had gone on for hours in order to make their plans more concrete and divide the workload. They were all eager to be done at that point, but it was better to not miss any important matter before they reconvened. His eyes settled on Prince Imrahil as he shifted forward to speak but before he could do so, Aragorn's voice sounded from the head of the table.

"Yes, Lord Faramir. I must inform the council that we will have to search for another queen, as Lady Lothíriel is not amenable to the match."

"But my lord!" Prince Imrahil protested in alarm. "Lothíriel told me that she agreed, just this morn no less."

Aragorn was confused, she had all but said no when she left, and he said as much, "Yet I was under the impression that her choice would lead us on different paths."

"Did the lady say no to you herself?" Faramir inquired, trying to resolve the misunderstanding.

"Nay."

"But she gave you the impression that she was going to reject this proposal?"

"Aye, it seemed so when we talked last night."

"You must be mistaken then, my lord," Imrahil interposed in his calm voice. "My daughter was quite clear when she informed me of her choice. She said she was ready to do her duty."

"Oh. Then I apologise for my error, Prince Imrahil," Aragorn said amicably and reluctantly added, "I suppose we can now proceed with the wedding preparations."

"Before we do so," Lord Dervoin, Minister of Welfare, spoke up, "I suggest we organise a funeral ceremony for the fallen. Gondor did not get to mourn many of her heroes before more had joined them in death. Lord Boromir especially deserves a captain's last honour."

"Well said, Lord Dervoin," Prince Imrahil nodded at the stern looking man. "I agree that a day of mourning would be appreciated by the masses, to pay respect to the fallen."

"Indeed. However unconventional my father's passing was, he was still a Steward of Gondor." If one was not privy to the father and son's cold relationship, the conflict on Faramir's face would've clued them in. No wonder the younger son did not want to remember his father's death, the latter had tried to kill him in his mistaken grief of having lost him. "We have not had the opportunity to honour him as such."

"Then we shall have a feast in their name," the King declared. "Lord Faramir, I believe you can take care of the necessities for such an event?"

"Certainly, my king," the Steward replied.

* * *

The memorial service was planned within the week. People came in throngs, the families of the martyrs having been specially invited. The losses turned out to be staggering when the list of the dead was compiled. It was Faramir who led the ceremony, having suffered two losses himself. Aragorn, as king, was made to give a speech, which he kept short and compassionate. He felt as if he was intruding on the moment, his conscience guilty for some reason. Gondor as a whole was mourning and who was he to sympathise when all this time he hid in the shadows while these people were fighting and losing. He witnessed the proceedings as an outsider among a people bound by shared experiences, looking at the faces of those left behind. Aragorn was no stranger to the grief of being the one to survive; his father, mother, ranger friends, Halbarad, Haldir, Boromir, even Gandalf for a time had all left him to face his life alone. Even now, he mourned Arwen as if she was gone from the living world. For she was unreachable to him and there was not even the comfort of meeting her in the afterlife - if there was one for mortals. She had gone somewhere he could not follow and that was as good as death.

Aragorn was shaken out of his thoughts when he heard Boromir's name being mentioned. He sat up in his chair in the open courtyard where the ceremony was being held. The place was brimming with people, perhaps even more than the day he was crowned king. His gaze swept those present at the stage and he was surprised to find Lothíriel among them. Only the immediate family members were to be present when martyrs with special recognition were to be honoured. Sure, his bride-to-be was a cousin of the late captain, but no other child of Prince Imrahil was up there. In fact, Imrahil and his sons were sitting not two feet away from him.

He turned to the ageing ruler of Dol Amroth and enquired in a hushed tone, "Imrahil, why is Lady Lothíriel on the dais alone? Should your family not join as well?"

Imrahil titled his head to the side in a thoughtful expression and just stared at the new King with his shrewd eyes. It was a couple seconds later that he replied, "My friend, Lothíriel is not there as a cousin to Boromir but as his betrothed."

Aragorn's head whipped to look at the other man, his eyes betraying his shock. "I was not aware of this."

"No," Imrahil agreed readily. "I suppose no one has had any reason to bring it up till now."

They lapsed in silence after that, listening to the bard as he sung praises of the bravest Captain of Gondor. Aragorn, though, was watching the pair on the dais. Faramir looked stoic but a discerning eye could easily spot the profound grief in his face. Lothíriel seemed to be lending support to the Steward, holding his hand in a show of solidarity. To Aragorn, she seemed largely composed and, dare he say, unaffected. But there was something about the corner of her mouth and the slight pinch around her downturned eyes that spoke of sadness. He was not privy to the full story but it did look like there was one - one he felt he should know.

* * *

The throne room was teeming with life as the various nobles of Gondor mingled, sharing sympathetic murmurs and the free food. Lothíriel stood by one of the windows, letting the fresh air fan her overheated body. Dressed in funeral-black at the height of summer, she wanted to escape the stuffed hall but as the bereaved betrothed of Boromir, she was expected to receive condolences. Faramir had graciously allowed her a moment's reprieve, which she used to get a cool glass of refreshment and prepare herself for another hour of people expressing their regrets - both false and true. No one could blame her for barely tolerating that; even the dead man in question himself would've detested the pretentiousness of it all. The memorial service was a kind gesture, but the gathering of the nobles after that was unnecessary in her opinion. Not all came with the intention of honouring the dead, and those who did would know how to do justice to their memory. And it certainly wasn't by whispering false sympathies in the right ears.

"Lothíriel."

The quiet modulated tone brought her back to the present. She turned to find Aragorn calmly gazing at her. "Aragorn," she curtsied hastily, clutching her goblet close. Her eyes caught on the dark blue of his tunic with its silver trimmed edges; he was dressed in Gondor's colours. 'Thoughtful or ingratiating?' she couldn't help but wonder, but immediately chastised herself for the uncharitable thought. If nothing else, it definitely complimented his steel blue eyes.

"Your father told me that you were betrothed to Lord Boromir, my lady," Aragorn said. He stood with his hands behind his back, a polite distance away from her. No need to fuel gossip prematurely. It had been decided that their betrothal would be announced a day before the Rohirrim were to leave.

"Ah." So that answered the question as to why he was there. For a moment she had panicked that it was about their wedding. If she sounded relieved, he could draw his own conclusions, "Yes, I was."

He bowed his head, "Then I am sorry for your loss. Boromir was a good man with a good heart."

"Thank you, my lord," she replied, taking another sip of her drink. "He was indeed that. And more."

"You would know better than I." While the words were suitably kind, his tone hinted at an underlying emotion Lothíriel could not decipher.

"But not better than Faramir." Her tacit acceptance of his claim caused an imperceptible tightening of his small smile. With a confused frown, she elaborated, "We were only engaged for 6 months before he left for Rivendell. Of course, I knew him as a cousin before, but it was Faramir who was more adept at communicating then."

Aragorn's expression changed to one of curiosity - his brow quirked up slightly and that was all his face gave away. "While I knew Boromir to believe more in actions, he certainly did not lack for words when needed."

She smiled at his statement, "That is indeed true. But I meant that he was not one to sit down and pen a letter. Their duties as the Steward's sons kept them both away from Dol Amroth. And while I visited my aunt here sometimes, we still did not see each other enough. Faramir, though, religiously wrote us all letters." Nostalgia crept up on her as she thought of her childhood. It felt ages ago now, after the war and all that happened. "He took after Aunt Finduilas in that regard, father says. But Boromir was her son in every way that mattered. From his laughing eyes to his guileless heart and belief in all that is good," she paused there, shaking the memories away, "At least that's what Aunt Ivriniel thought. I never met Aunt Finduilas myself."

"She was a lovely woman," Aragorn commented, nodding to himself.

Lothíriel was surprised, "You knew her too? Just how old are you!?" Even though everyone knew he was 88, the reminder that he had seen the generation her father was a part of, was jarring to hear.

"Enough." He smiled bashfully and genuinely, to her amazement.

"I'm - I..." she stumbled over her words and busied herself with taking a sip to buy time. "Forgive me, I should not have said that."

"Please, there was no..." Aragorn was saying but Lothíriel could not hear, for all her focus was on the hand he had lifted to wave her apology away. There, on his left forearm, was a vambrace that looked remarkably similar to the pair she had given Boromir as a favour before his departure. Aragorn must have noticed her staring for he asked, "Is something the matter, Lothíriel?"

"What?" she jolted out of her thoughts. "Oh! Well. Your vambrace," she gestured to the item now hidden beneath his sleeve, "I had made Boromir a pair like that. It took me ages to even learn the basics, and even then, it was the Master at the royal tannery that did all the work. I merely painted and finished it off." She smiled fondly in remembrance; recalling how Boromir had protested the gesture, saying it was not needed at all. Upset they might have been with their betrothal, but they cared enough about each other to make an effort. So she had wanted to give him a favour, something more than a token to cherish, hence the vambraces. "Boromir had been suitably impressed all the same, commending me on braving the stench of the tannery to see it through. He had promised to wear them always, a blessing to carry with him. Much good it did him though; he died anyway." Lothíriel could not keep the slight anger out of her tone. Just when she was getting ready to accept a future with Boromir, Mandos had taken him away. And now she had to start all over again.

When the silence stretched for too long, Lothíriel looked up to find Aragorn paler than before. His eyes were open wide in surprise and his brow looked troubled. "Aragorn?" She enquired, hesitantly reaching out a hand towards him.

Aragorn seemed to compose himself, "Lothiriel, I must return these to you," he started removing the vambrace on his left hand as he said that, "for I do not have any right to them."

"What do you mean?" Lothíriel was having trouble following what he had just said. "Are these Boromir's?"

He had finished taking both vambraces off and held them out to her as he replied, "Yes. I took them after he fell... As a reminder of the promise I had made to him. Had I known they were a gift from you, I would not have taken that liberty."

Lothíriel took the worn leather pieces in her hands and reverently traced a hand down the engraved tree. Boromir had always evoked mixed feelings in her. After their betrothal, she had tried to remain cold towards him as a protest against the match. But he had been patient with her and did not blame her for their situation, as she did him. She had been asked to stay in Minas Tirith by Denethor for the duration of their betrothal and she had no choice but to obey. Those initial weeks were spent in a sulk until Boromir finally broke through her walls and they reached an understanding. Though rough around the edges, he was a true gentleman. Never once had he made her uncomfortable in all their interactions. Looking back, she wondered if her reluctance to marry him had been born out of an unwillingness to enter any marriage, rather than the idea of Boromir as a husband. What they had cultivated in the short time they shared as an engaged couple, could have one day grown into love - she was self-aware enough to realise this. That's why his death had hit her hard; she had felt a sense of loss greater than what she thought it would be. And now that she had entered into another uneager agreement, she found herself missing him more and more. She missed the certainty he provided and the bond they had shared. At least his heart would not have been closed off to her as her current betrothed's would be.

"What promise did you make?"

"That I will not let the white city fall. Nor let our people fail."

"Then you have earned the right to these," she said as she took his right hand and placed the vambraces there. "For you kept your promise. Keep them and honour his memory."

Aragorn clutched the vambraces in his hand, his intense eyes probing into her very soul. She grimly held his gaze until he gave a nod of acquiescence and fastened them back on his forearms. When he looked back up, his expression had a touch of respect for her - something she had yet to receive from him. It made her squirm unexpectedly.

Draining the rest of her now warm drink, Lothíriel excused herself, "I'm afraid that I must keep Faramir company some more."

"Of course, my lady."

They both bowed, sharing one last glance as Lothíriel stepped away. She made her way to her cousin and looked back once more to find Aragorn still watching her, an unreadable look on his face.


	5. Buried Hopes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Featuring- marital negotiations, Lothiriel the defender, a betrothal, history lessons, an interview, and Aragorn haunted by ghosts of his past.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for the kudos! Don't hesitate to comment. I'd love to hear what you think :)  
> Not a native speaker, so do forgive any mistake.

**12th May, 3019**

Two days before the betrothal, Lothíriel was in a conference with Imrahil, Faramir, and Aragorn to discuss the nuances of their marriage. Having agreed on a shorter engagement period of 6 months rather than the customary year, they were now counting their individual riches and what they'd bring to the union. Faramir was adamant that Finduilas' bridal estate in Lossarnach, which Boromir had persuaded his father to give as a betrothal gift to Lothíriel, should remain with Lothíriel and be counted among her extra-dotal property.

"Faramir, that was your mother's house. I cannot keep it," Lothíriel protested. It didn't sit right with her to keep a gift from her betrothal to Boromir when she was marrying another man.

"A betrothal gift is never returned, Lothíriel, unless that pledge is broken," the Steward explained, refusing to concede. "And mother would have liked her niece to have it."

Lothíriel was not convinced still, "What about your own bride?"

"Thíri," Faramir sighed in fond exasperation. "If you had indeed married Boromir, my bride would have received something else. Just like she would now. My brother gave that manor to you and I intend to honour his wish."

"He's right, daughter," Imrahil interjected in his baritone. "To return it would be an insult. And a betrothal is as good as a marriage, unfulfilled due to death or not. That manor is yours by right."

"Very well," she finally capitulated. However uneasy she might have been with the idea of keeping her aunt's estate, returning a gift was one of the gravest impropriety one could commit. "For Boromir, I shall cherish it." Faramir gave a pleased nod at her words and added it to the agreement he was penning down. Though formal agreements were not necessary before a betrothal or marriage, the nobility maintained records all the same for clarity and legal purposes.

Imrahil placed a hand on Lothíriel's arm to draw her attention and said, "And I intend to give you Edhellond as the bridal gift, Lothíriel. I shall also sponsor its restoration if that be your intention for it. That harbour has always held a special place in your heart, I could not think of a better parting present for you."

"A princely gift," Aragorn remarked, a hint of surprise in his voice.

"Father..." Lothíriel was at a loss for words, for this was a gift beyond compare to her. Edhellond was an ancient elven harbour to Dol Amroth's north in Belfalas. Though largely uninhabited and in ruins, it was still a place that Lothíriel had loved to visit as a child. Her dream had been to restore the haven to its former glory, but that was before the War. She had abandoned all her plans when the realities of life had struck her hard. And now her father was giving back her forgotten dreams to her.

"I have only one daughter," Imrahil rationalised with a smile and squeezed her arm. She smiled back, hoping to convey what her words never could.

"As for your dowry," Faramir spoke, continuing their negotiation. "Aunt Ivriniel has left you her own assigned dowry along with most of her worldly possessions. I believe that should cover it?" He asked this mostly of Aragorn, for dowry was the only part of the bridal property that was shared with the husband. Under Gondorian law, dowry and dower (collectively called the  _dotarium_ ) were the assets that the bride and the groom respectively brought to the marriage. A spouse only had a share in the  _dotarium_  and not in any other property (called the extra-dotal property) of the other spouse, unless expressly given by the latter. And the bride/groom held sole rights over any extra-dotal property they had in their individual possession.

When the Steward received consensus from all three, he turned to Aragorn, "My lord, is there anything you would wish to keep out of the dower? Your title and right to rule shall remain safe, as the sovereignty of the monarch is inalienable under Gondorian law. It can never be counted in the dower."

"Nay, Faramir, I have nothing to exclude."

"As you wish, Aragorn." Faramir inclined his head in obeisance and wrote down further on the document. When the scratch of his quill-pen stopped, he picked up the papers and surmised, "So Lothíriel's extra-dotal property consists of the Lossarnach estate, her bridal and betrothal gifts, and whatever trousseau she might bring. Everything else shall be her dowry. Aragorn here has excluded nothing from the dower, except for his rights as the sovereign, so the dower includes any and every income from the royal holdings, any and every riches except heirlooms of rulership, and any and every royal housing. Do the terms suit both parties?"

After everyone assented, Faramir passed the papers to Lothíriel to sign. Apart from the principal document, there were exhibits to definitively state the various properties of both the bride and the groom, which were to be filled later. When Lothíriel's gaze swept over words like 'royal' and 'heirs', it suddenly dawned on her that she was not just marrying a man, but a king, which meant that she would be queen. Abruptly she froze and looked up with a blank expression. Her eyes unmistakably met those of Aragorn and wildly, all she could think of at that moment was the sheen of a sword in the sun. His eyes were the same - dazzling and sharp. When she continued to stare at him with a glazed look on her face, he cocked an eyebrow at her while furrowing the other. Still in a daze, she broke eye-contact and mechanically put her name on the document before passing it over to a waiting Imrahil, who was to sign as her witness.

Lothíriel stayed lost in her thoughts, even when the signing was done and everyone stood up to leave for lunch. Murmuring reassuringly that she was fine, she told them to go on without her. She had so many things on her mind that she needed some peace and quiet to sort it out. Not even two weeks prior, she had been ready to get rid of the title of 'High Lady', thinking that the sooner the King got a queen, the better it would be. Yet when the question of Aragorn's marriage came up, she had forgotten that it entailed the title of 'queen' - a responsibility even greater than that of High Lady. How naively had she been caught up in the ideas of love, husband, and marriage that she overlooked the mantle of 'Queen of Gondor' that she was expected to take up. And not just Gondor, she would be Queen of the Reunited Kingdom, as the King was planning to officially reunite the broken realm of Arnor with that of Gondor. Was she even qualified for the role? Could she handle it? Be the queen that the people deserved? All these doubts swirled in her mind as she sat brooding in the Steward's office. So immersed was she in her cogitation that she started violently when a hand was placed on her shoulder.

Aragorn took his hand off and raised both in placation, "Peace! It is only I."

"Oh. You startled me," Lothíriel sighed in relief, relaxing her alarmed posture.

"I called your name, but you seemed to be in a world of your own." The lightness of his voice surprised her as, of late, their talks had always been laden with an unnamed heaviness. Even the understated smile he was gracing her with was a rarity ever since their marriage was brought up. That first day they had met was the only time she had seen him laugh in her presence, and because of her no less. But nowadays, whenever he caught sight of her, his laugh or smile would dim in its cheer. She didn't notice at first, but once she did, it was hard not to see how his entire stance would shift to a sombre and, dare she say a sad one.

Lothíriel gave a small smile in return, "I have much to mull over. Is there anything I can help you with?"

He shook his head and claimed the chair adjacent to her, his tall stature making their knees touch in the limited space beneath the table. "I only wished to talk."

"About what?"

The King stared for a moment too long at her and then, without using the precise words, conveyed exactly what he was thinking, "Are you sure, Lothíriel?"

And there was that question again. When their match was proposed by the Council, her father and Faramir had taken her aside before she had talked to Aragorn. Imrahil had called the match a good one, albeit unexpected, for he believed that their king was the best one could ask for. And Faramir had agreed wholeheartedly, admitting his intention to court Éowyn and thus explaining his eagerness for the proposal. They had been the ones promoting the match, yet when she had accepted the next morning, suddenly they were in a state of dubiety: 'are you sure, Lothíriel?'. And here was Aragorn, questioning her decision again. Did they all expect her to change her mind and renege on her word later on? Or was it that they felt her decision was not the right one? That she should have refused and left another to fill the shoes?

"I am," she replied resolutely, meeting his intense gaze head-on. "But everyone's doubt in my choice urges me to reconsider. Have I made a mistake by saying yes?"

"That I cannot say, my lady. I have told you all that is required of me in honesty. Yet a consideration like this is not only for the heart to decide. I want you to make an aware decision, from both heart and mind."

"You refer to the fact that I will be marrying King Elessar."

"Yes," Aragorn answered without missing a beat and shifted forward, resting his forearms on the tabletop. "I noticed how disconcerted you were by the marriage agreement. It was only when I signed as Elessar Telcontar that it registered with me- I am not just Aragorn son of Arathorn anymore."

"And so it'll not be just him that I marry," Lothíriel finished grimly. Turning her eyes to the room's window, she gazed out at the view the third storey of the tower provided. "I now understand what you really meant that day. As a king, you not only have to carry the burden of today but of tomorrow too. People will remember you - the first king... the returned king - long after you're dead. And you will be judged not merely in your life, but in death as well. I do not know if I'm ready for that. I'm afraid of being condemned by the people when I'm dead and cannot defend my choices."

"Lothíriel." The rich voice compelled her to turn and meet the same blue-grey eyes that she had likened to a sword. But now they resembled the sea on an overcast day, reflecting nothing but the clouds shrouding the sky of his thoughts.

Taking her hand between both of his, Aragorn spoke calmly, "No one is ever ready. I certainly was not when they crowned me. I had the same fears as you, sometimes I still do. But I find that fear can be an excellent motivator if one is guided and not hindered by it. The very fact that you are afraid of the people's judgement shows that you are worthy and ready. If you think of the people first, then you have the heart of a ruler. And if you think of what they will condemn and what they will not, then you have the mind of one too."

She carefully took in his earnest face and asked the question she had wondered on before, "How do you always know what to say?"

A wry smile took over his fair features, "I served as an adviser to two rulers. One tends to learn what to say and when to say it."

Lothíriel chuckled at that, "No adviser of yours will be able to fool you then." He gave her another smile, full of mirth, and she squeezed the calloused hand holding hers as she said, "Thank you, Aragorn. Your words have helped a lot."

Aragorn inclined his head, patting her hand before standing up, "Lunch awaits. Will you join me?"

Nodding, she accepted the arm he had offered and the two set out towards the Feasting Hall where all meals were being arranged till the guests stayed. It was a short walk from the Tower of Ecthelion, but to Lothíriel it felt abnormally long as the whole palace knew about their pending betrothal and so, many eyes and whispers followed them. She was just about to release the breath she had been holding as they neared the building when a voice stopped them.

"Lady Lothíriel! And oh, King Elessar. Suilaid!"

The sickeningly sweet voice belonged to Lady Emlin of Lossarnach, niece to the late steward through her mother, Lady Vanyalos. Named after the yellow bird for her yellow hair - a rarity south of the White Mountains - she seemed to attract attention with her bright appearance. If it was anyone else, Lothíriel would have said warm words of sympathy as the lady had lost not only her father but her betrothed - Lord Derufin of Blackroot Vale - as well in the War. But Lothíriel had always equally envied and loathed Emlin, for she found that the older lady had both beauty and pride in abundance.

"Lady Emlin. You were missed at the coronation," Lothíriel greeted cordially, keeping her tone tempered and face friendly.

"Ah yes. I did wish to be here, but alas, mother was not well after the funeral," Emlin explained with a sorrowful smile. From Lossarnach, only Lord Vangorn had been in attendance, who had returned to the white city after escorting his father's body back to Arnach.

"Indeed. My- Our condolences," Lothíriel offered sincerely, amending her words to include Aragorn too. She knew they were not yet betrothed, and as such were not to be counted as one, but she couldn't resist making her claim known. Gesturing to Aragorn, she then asked, "Have you met our king?"

Emlin turned with a sunny smile towards the man and bowed her head, "Only briefly. Mae govannen, my lord."

Lothíriel, too, turned to look at Aragorn but had to squint up at him since the sun was blinding her. She made to raise her hand to shield her eyes, but Aragorn beat her to it as he shifted on his feet to block the sun with his taller stature while he replied, "Mae govannen, Lady Emlin."

"I hear that congratulations may be in order for you two," Emlin said, her eyes pinched around the corners. "Really, Lady Lothíriel, you must stop stealing the good ones before we poor women even have a chance!"

The dig had Lothíriel clenching her hands, even as the blonde woman gave a laugh that sounded fake to her ears. She was just opening her mouth to retaliate scathingly when Aragorn's hand covered hers atop his arm. Realising that she had been gripping too hard, she relaxed her hold and took a deep breath before speaking, "Poor women, you say! If I were to play fair, my lady, I'm certain I would be the last one."

Unexpectedly, Aragorn chuckled, which had her cocking her head curiously. He raised his brows in reply, amusement dancing in his eyes, and Lothíriel knew that he had caught her double-entendre and understood the 'standing' left unsaid by her. When she turned back to Emlin, it was to find her watching their silent exchange with interest.

Pulling a conspiratorial face as if they were sharing a secret, Emlin spoke lightly, "Ah! So you do admit to not playing fair. But worry not, Lady Lothíriel, I shall not tell anyone of your wiles that trapped the King."

Bristling at the implication of the words - for she had insulted not just her but Aragorn too - Lothíriel drew up to her full height of 5'9", towering over the shorter woman. Her tone was cold and calm as she retorted, "You have indeed met him only briefly if you think Aragorn susceptible to the wiles of scheming women. Since you know so little of him, I advise you to refrain from making such remarks about the King in the future. Good day!" On that note, Lothíriel stalked towards the Feasting Hall with Aragorn by her side, leaving the stunned lady behind.

"Lothíriel," Aragorn said soothingly, trying to get her to stop seething.

But Lothíriel was in no mood to be pacified, "She had no right! I do not care what taunts she throws at me, but to utter such scornful remark about you - in your presence no less! Did you hear her words? She all but said that you have no honour. Referencing your past as she did, that's just distasteful."

In the small pause she took, Aragorn stopped walking and released her hand in order to take her by the shoulders, "Lothíriel, listen to me. It matters not what she said."

"No! You do not understand, she-" Lothíriel was silenced abruptly as Aragorn placed his finger on her lips. She stared wide-eyed at the man, who inclined his head to the right, and that was when she realised that they had entered the hall and all noise had ceased - making her angry tirade perfectly audible to everyone. Horrified at her breach in decorum, she flushed scarlet and lowered her eyes to the ground, wishing for it to swallow her up.

Then Aragorn gently tilted her chin up, with the same finger he had used to silence her, and gave her an appreciative smile. "I thank you for speaking on my behalf, my lady. But it was not necessary. People will say what they want, I care not for that."

"But I do," she countered passionately. "They can talk all they want behind my back, but I will not stay quiet if they disparage you in front of me... and because of me."

Aragorn gravelly shook his head and said wisely, "Sometimes silence is the shield to use."

"Yet words defend best."

"When you are the one wielding them."

Baffled and blushing, Lothíriel didn't know how to react to his words, so she let him steer her towards a table as the noise in the room slowly picked up. And around her, she saw on the faces of the people, the same question that was going through her mind: what had just happened?

* * *

The day of their betrothal, Aragorn woke up well before dawn after a night of restless sleep. Dreams of Arwen had haunted his rest, and even still he could feel her presence in his room. When before that feeling had brought him comfort, now it only caused him anguish. He was going to be bound to Lothíriel today, and it would be unfair to her if he started the day with memories of his previous betrothed. As this very day approached, he had dreaded it all the more, not realising that his despondency had been clear to see. It took his brothers twisting his ear for him to try to act like he was awaiting his betrothal, not funeral. He would nowadays consciously remind himself to stay in the present.

Yet what could a broken heart do, if not spend every waking moment in reveries of that which was lost? As he stood facing the vast lands that stretched to the north of Minas Tirith from his window, all he could see was the hill of Cerin Amroth where Arwen and he had pledged their troth all those years ago. Little did he know that their betrothal would be revoked not two scores of years later under the growing shadow. He could recall with perfect clarity how Arwen had cried as she returned the Ring of Barahir to him, releasing him from his pledge and renouncing the claim she had on him. He had been too numb to cry then, but on the eve of the Fellowship's departure, he had wept bitterly in her arms. That was the final time they had kissed, and now the taste of her lips would be forever tainted in his memory. How cruel could the Valar be?

 

The day passed by in a frenzy as the whole city came alive in anticipation of the night's feast. With lesser duties to attend to, Aragorn had spent his time with his friends, but his mind had remained preoccupied. As the hour drew near, he gathered all his strength to do the needful, no matter how much his heart protested against it. And so he dressed and went to the Feasting Hall with his brothers at his side to await Lothíriel's arrival. Not long after, Imrahil escorted his daughter into the hall, and when Aragorn's gaze landed on the lady, all blood drained from his face. For there Lothíriel was, clad in the same shade of blue as the cloak Arwen had been wearing the day he first beheld her. And for a moment, his heart fooled him into thinking that it was Arwen herself, returned from Valinor as if she had never left. But then sense prevailed and it dawned on him that blue and silver were the colours of Dol Amroth, so it was no trick of fate if Lothíriel had donned the same. When at last she stood by his side, he pushed all thoughts of a certain maiden in twilight aside and clasped her hand in his. Lothíriel gave him a curious smile, which he was hard-pressed to return but he tried anyway. The way her smile dimmed and then vanished was enough to tell him that he had failed utterly. But then the Master of Ceremonies - Lord Túrin - came forward to bind their hands for the handfasting and all his lapses were forgotten for now.

With their right hands bound together in the silken cloth, he spoke the words that he had not thought he would ever have to speak again: "I, Aragorn Arathornion, Elessar Telcontar, will take thou, Lothíriel Imrahiliel of Dol Amroth, to be my wife and thereto I pledge thee my troth."

And Lothíriel gave him a tremulous smile as she too repeated words once uttered by her before: "I, Lothíriel Imrahiliel of Dol Amroth, will take thou, Aragorn Arathornion, Elessar Telcontar, to be my husband and thereto I pledge thee my troth."

On the final note, Aragorn closed his eyes in resignation. It was done. There was no going back after this. When he opened them back, his misgivings were locked far inside his mind. Now as he looked at Lothíriel, he was determined to do his duty without any hesitance; so he conjured a convincing smile for her and squeezed her hand. She searched his gaze for an instant, then her smile slowly returned and her shoulders lost some of their tension.

After Lord Túrin had unwrapped their hands, Elladan and Elrohir stepped up to the pair. They bowed in sync to the King and his lady and offered a jewelled box to Lothíriel. Addressing her, Elladan spoke, "As is the custom of the Dúnedain of Arda, we, on behalf of Aragorn's family, present you this betrothal gift, Lady Lothíriel."

Elrohir opened the box to reveal a tiara of white gems wrought in mithril, shaped like a twisting vine with encrusted leaves over it and three teardrop diamonds hanging down from the centre and sides. "This diadem belonged to our great-grandmother, Queen Nimloth of Doriath," he explained. "It is said that when the Sons of Fëanor attacked Doriath during the Rhîw Festival, she placed this upon her daughter's head and the Nauglamír she hid in her pockets, and told her to run. And so our grandmother, Princess Elwing, escaped the Second Kinslaying bearing her mother's and father's jewels with her. When the Third Kinslaying took place, the Sons of Fëanor not only captured our father and uncle but also took a great deal of treasure from the Havens of Sirion. When our father and uncle came of age, their foster-father, Maglor, returned their house's heirlooms to them. Since then, this diadem has been in our father's care, worn by our mother and by our sister after her. Now the time has come for it to be passed to another queen."

Both Lothíriel and Aragorn were astonished to hear that. This was no cheap gift for a mortal queen, for its value transcended the sparkling gems it sported. "But I cannot possibly accept this," Lothíriel protested. "This is your family heirloom as you said, surely this must stay within the family!"

"My lady, it  _will_  stay in the family," Elladan assured, smiling indulgently at her. "Aragorn is our brother, and if not that, then he is a descendant of our Uncle Elros and has as much claim over this as we do. Only, I doubt his big head would fit this tiara."

Aragorn huffed out a laugh at the jest, glaring mockingly at the elf. But Lothíriel remained uneasy and she tugged at her ear as she asked, looking between the three nervously, "But... shouldn't Lady Arwen keep this?"

The mention of her name sobered him up, and he stopped himself from giving away his emotions through sheer will alone. He caught Lothíriel stealing glances up at him through her eyelashes, and it was enough to remind him of his new resolution. He had her to think of now.

It was Elrohir who answered in a slightly exasperated voice, "If you must know, my lady, then it was Arwen herself who told us to give this to Estel's bride. The gift of foresight runs in our family, and our sister said that she dreamt of Nimloth's diadem worn by a maiden in white, strolling by a serene sea with towers soaring high on clay cliffs behind her."

"Dol Amroth," Lothíriel whispered in awe.

"Indeed." It could as easily have been Arwen and Aragorn's daughter that she saw, but the Evenstar had known that she could not wait for the War to end. She had been fading abnormally fast, whereas it would have taken months for an elf to reach that stage where sailing was their only option, she had been on that path in a matter of weeks. So without risking losing everyone she loved if she became a wraith, Arwen had said goodbye to the future where the adaneth in her vision was her daughter and embraced the notion that it was Aragorn's mortal wife that she had seen. Before her departure, she had told her father and brothers of her vision and said that the diadem was to remain in Arda in the hands of a queen of the Doriath line.

"Please, Lady Lothíriel, hesitate no longer and accept our gift to the bride-to-be," Elladan urged, as Elrohir again held out the box containing the tiara.

Taking the proffered gift, she formally replied, "Very well then. I am honoured to receive such kind bestowal on me. Hannon le, Hîr Elladan a Elrohir en Imladris."

The snap of the lid as she shut the case rang like an ultimatum in Aragorn's ears. Arwen had foreseen Lothíriel as his bride, and despite knowing that, she had given her blessings in the form of her ancestral diadem. If Arwen could accept their fate, then why was he still struggling to move on?

* * *

"It is most strange," Faramir commented idly, watching as the newly betrothed couple received well-wishes.

"What is?" Éowyn asked, taking her eyes off of the hobbits who'd already found trouble when the feast had barely even started. Pippin and Merry seemed to be engaged in a friendly argument with some knights of Gondor, and though she could not hear what was being said, their expressive faces were enough to amuse her.

"That the marital customs of the Númenóreans changed in favour of the bride after Ar-Pharazôn, the Last King of Númenór, forcefully took Tar-Míriel as his wife," he explained with a speculative look on his face. "Before, it was both the bride and the bridegroom who received gifts of equivalent worth from the other's family. The customs were largely gender-neutral, like those of the Eldar, but now it is only the bride who is given such presents. Yet these new customs leave the bride vulnerable to greedy families and lustful men."

Éowyn did not grasp what the problem was. In the Mark too, the bride's family was given the bride-price by the groom to compensate for her departure from the family. "How so?" she thus asked him. "What is wrong if the bride gets the better treatment out of the two? From what I can see, Lady Lothíriel received a worthy betrothal gift."

Faramir turned to face her then, ready to argue his point, "Precisely. The customs changed to put a heavier burden on the bridegroom if he wished to marry the bride. His family not only has to give a betrothal present, but he also has to make an acceptable offering to the bride's family at the time of marriage. If the bride's family accepts the price, then the bride's father bestows on his daughter a bridal gift as his blessing for the marriage."

"Oh." Now she understood what he had meant, "So you mean to say that if a man wants to marry a woman, he may do so without her consent if her family is willing? That is revolting!"

"Indeed. But by the Valar, such cases are few and far between," he replied and his eyes turned thoughtful once again. "There was another legacy of Ar-Pharazôn that survived the downfall and was discovered only recently."

Despite herself, Éowyn was curious to know more about Gondor and her history. If things went the way she wanted them to, then soon she'd be a Gondorian as well and will be expected to have awareness of such things. "What was it?"

"Númenórean law prohibited first cousins from marrying," the Prince of Ithilien began. "And Tar-Míriel was Ar-Pharazôn's first cousin. Though willful and proud, Ar-Pharazôn still valued the word of law, and so, after he took control of the sceptre, he changed the law to allow such marriages with a retrospective effect- thus validating his own marriage. When Elendil and his sons came to Middle-earth, they brought with them volumes of the Númenórean law to aid their rule here. And this amended law was enacted in Gondor without review and it lay idle for millennia until my father sought to marry Boromir to our cousin, Lothíriel. He had known of this legal loophole in our customs and exploited that to betroth the two, much to our protests."

She had listened to him with rapture, and this new fact about Lothíriel took her by surprise, "Lady Lothíriel has been betrothed before?" Even in her talks with her cousin Grishild and her daughter Dannasell, the matter of Lothíriel and Boromir had never come up.

"Yes. If Boromir had lived, you two would have been good-sisters."

But Éowyn was not of the same opinion, as she thought to herself: 'Had he lived, I would have been standing in her place today.' Yet there was no point in dwelling on what-ifs for her. She had made peace with the idea that Aragorn was not meant to be hers. And admittedly, it had stung when she had come to know about his acceptance of Lady Lothíriel as his bride-to-be, but having Faramir with her had dissipated all her qualms with the turn of events. Truly, she felt blessed to have someone who could actually see her. With Faramir looked at her, she felt as if her innermost thoughts were laid bare for him - it both unnerved and reassured her. The experience was altogether exhilarating, even more than the thrill Aragorn's attention had given her.

"I wish I could have gotten to know your brother," she commented. Though the Captain had halted in Edoras on his journey to Rivendell, Éowyn had merely seen him in passing.

"I do not!" Faramir exclaimed with a laugh, and elaborated on seeing her frown, "You would not have looked twice at this poor plain captain when faced with his noble appeal."

Éowyn rolled her eyes at his dramatics, "Hush you! You forget that you are the brother to that 'noble appeal'. And I doubt anyone could understand my soul better than you, Faramir. Dead or alive." She blushed as she confessed that. Her whole stay in the Houses of Healing, Faramir had been persistent yet subtle in his affections. When she had finally accepted his regard, it had become a point of teasing for him - her stubbornness in not admitting her feelings. And though he had been sure that she returned his love, this was the first Éowyn had spoken of it.

"Éowyn..." Faramir was struck speechless. Raising her hands to his chest, he fondly said, "My fiery shieldmaiden. I only wish you would share that very soul with me."

"For life and beyond. As long as I have yours." That was as good as a yes, for she was less comfortable with words and more with actions.

"And my heart, mind, and body," he replied and kissed both her hands, sealing their pact.

Giddy with tenderness for the man before her, Éowyn enveloped him in her arms, hiding her tears in his neck. Yet their moment was short-lived as Éomer interrupted them, "If the declarations of love are done, perhaps we should wish Aragorn ourselves, sister."

Stepping away from Faramir, Éowyn swatted her brother on the arm, "You have horrible timing."

"Blame Éothain for that," Éomer said with a grin, pulling her under his arm. "I was intending to fetch you minutes ago."

"And ruin our talk? Thank Béma for Éothain then. He certainly has the sense you lack."

Laughing jovially, Éomer tugged her towards the dais where Aragorn and Lothíriel were receiving guests. Faramir followed behind and warmly nodded at Dannasell as she joined them in approaching the couple.

"Congratulations, my friend!" Éomer boomed, giving a hearty pat to Aragorn's back. "You do your name justice, Wingfoot. Not even a fortnight in the city and you have already secured a most beautiful lady for life."

Aragorn gave as good as he got, as he teased the Rohir, "Careful there, Éomer, with the King of Gondor out of the race, the ladies will set their eyes on the King of Rohan."

"If they haven't already," Lothíriel added. Standing to the Gondorian King's side, Lothiriel looked reserved, as if something troubling was on her mind. Éowyn wondered why that could be. Was she not happy with the match? Could it be that Aragorn held the same sentiment for his betrothed as he did for her? If that was the case, then Éowyn pitied the younger lady because loving someone and being loved in return was the best feeling in the world.

"But you need only one pair, do you not, my King?" Dannasell asked rhetorically. The mischievous glint in her eyes had Éowyn raising her brows for there was no mistaking that look. The Lady of Lamedon had been unabashed in her inquiries of Rohan and the new king and Éowyn had eventually caught onto her reasons. In any case, she had no objections, her brother could do worse than their cousin's daughter.

"One will be quite enough, trust me," Faramir commented sagely.

And Éowyn laughingly remarked, "I do believe you are in good hands, brother. The Gondorians will find you a bride before the night is through!"

"Oh I hardly think we'll have to  _find_  one, Lady Éowyn," Lothíriel said pointedly, her gaze alternating between Dannasell and Éomer. "They're usually hidden in plain sight if one is inclined to look."

Faramir, it seemed, had not cottoned on to what silent conversations were taking place, "True words, cousin. So, where should we start, Éomer?"

"Not today, my friend," the Rohir King replied grimly. "I believe marriage will have to wait for now."

"From one king to another: marriage cannot wait for as long as you might wish it to." Though Aragorn might have made that statement with good intentions, his words were ill-received. A wave of tension suddenly descended upon the group and Éowyn was not the only one whose eyes turned to Lothíriel. The High Lady gave a tight-lipped smile and Éowyn saw Aragorn wince slightly as the implications of his words registered with him.

Dannasell broke the strained atmosphere when she quipped, "Well, pity that Faramir is only a Prince, for he can scarcely wait!" And they all obediently laughed at that, thankful to be out of the strained situation.

"Excuse me, my lords and ladies." The interjection could not have come at a better time and they all turned to see the hobbits, with Legolas and Gimli, smiling up at them.

Éomer welcomed them genially, "Well, if 'tis not the famed Fellowship!"

"We are here to felicitate the lass and lad," Gimli said, nodding at the couple.

Pippin, who was vibrating with excitement, burst out loudly, "And to hold an interrogation!"

"Really?" Éowyn asked in surprise. "An interrogation? Of whom?"

"Why, the Lady Lothíriel, of course!" the hobbit replied.

"May I ask what I've done to warrant this interrogation?" Lothíriel queried in amusement, a single eyebrow arched high. "From a Guard of the Citadel no less?"

"'Tis not an interrogation, my lady," Merry clarified, bowing a bit when Lothíriel's gaze turned to him. Noticing the blush decorating his cheeks, Éowyn surmised that the High Lady of Gondor had acquired a new admirer. "Think of it as an interview," he added. "We just want to do our duty as good friends."

Pippin nodded vigorously, puffing up his chest, "Aye. Not many ladies worthy of our friend here, you see. He is a good man - our Aragorn. And he deserves a good bride by his side."

"It's what friends do, my lady," Sam softly said. Glancing in Frodo's direction, he continued, "They look out for one another. And Strider is one of the best."

Aragorn stepped forward, his hand laid over his heart for emphasis, "You humble me, my friends. And I am made all the greater with your friendships. But this is not necessary. Lady Lothíriel honours me with her troth."

"No, it's quite alright, my lord." And though Lothíriel spoke to Aragorn, she barely glanced at the man as she considered the hobbits carefully. "I would be happy to answer any questions you might've, sirs. Shall we?" She then gestured to the tables laid out and started walking, fully intending them to follow, which they did.

* * *

Even though she had accepted the 'interview', as Merry called it, Lothíriel was getting cold feet as they made their way to a table to sit. The hobbits were clearly some of Aragorn's dearest friends, and their opinion would surely weigh heavily with him. So she was apprehensive about the kind of questions they would ask her. Had they given her time, she might have prepared accordingly to make a good impression. And they were holding it in a room full of notables no less. 'Nienna, have mercy! What have I gotten myself into?' she thought as she and the hobbits sat down around the table while the others remained standing.

Adding some confidence to her voice, Lothíriel stated with aplomb, "I am ready when you are." Looking up, she saw all of them crowded behind the hobbits in front of her. If she hadn't been intimidated before, she definitely was then: all of them war heroes with great experiences, while here she was - with only Dannasell standing by her side - the one who had never been in the thick of the War. A small part of her resented Faramir and Aragorn for choosing the figurative 'other' side, but she refused to recognise it. Her cousin and she could take on the world alone if they wanted, what was an interrogation?

Straightening up, Pippin adopted a solemn expression as he spoke, "Right. Right. So what're your intentions regarding Aragorn?"

"Pippin!" Came the immediate reprimand from Merry beside him. "Not that one first!"

Lothíriel spared a charmed smile at their antics as the two hobbits started whispering spiritedly. "My intentions are wholly true and noble, Master Took," she answered, interrupting their banter. "I assure you, I bear no ill-will towards your friend."

Humming in consideration, the Esquire of Rohan took the reins to ask the next question, "What do you like to do, my lady? Your hobbies and passions?"

"My hobbies?" Lothíriel was taken aback, as she had not anticipated that how she spent her free-time would be of interest to them. "Oh well, let's see. I take pleasure in reading, and I quite enjoy playing the harp as music can always lift my spirits. And if you do not see me doing either at my leisure, then you'd find me among nature and its beauty."

"That's quite the list you have there."

"Hardly, Master Meriadoc," she scoffed. Her pursuits fell short of what the ladies at court considered adequate. Most of them were accomplished dancers, painters, singers/players, and needle-workers. Some even added cooking, gardening, and horse-riding to their skill-set. But Lothíriel never had any patience for those.

"My lady, what do you wish for from your husband?" It was the stout one, Samwise, who posed the question and something in his tone gave the impression that he was asking with a more personal motive.

Yet Lothíriel was not bothered, for she actually had an answer at hand. She had spent a great deal of time considering her preferences when it came to men, so her reply was quick, "That he respects me and values me as a person. And I wish for mutual trust and honesty. That's what truly matters."

"But what about love?" asked the starry-eyed Pippin. "There's love in every marriage, innit?"

That was when Lothíriel first regretted it all. For what could she even say to that? She herself had wondered the same once, but that notion had died a swift death when she had been pressured into accepting Boromir. And whatever little hope had been reignited after knowing the fair captain, his death had dimmed it and Aragorn had ultimately smothered it with his declaration of never loving again. Thankfully, she was saved from replying.

"Not all are as blessed, my friend," Legolas remarked, placing a hand on Pippin's shoulder. "Love is fickle. Sometimes it grows, sometimes it dies."

Then everyone's gaze swivelled to Frodo as a timid voice spoke up, "Is happiness certain? Will you be able to keep him happy, Lady Lothíriel?" And there was much desperation in his tone as if her answer could make or break the seemingly fragile strength holding him together. Lothíriel could not fathom why Aragorn's happiness would be so important to the Ring-bearer. To ask that peculiar question, he must have a deeper interest in Aragorn's life than mere concern for his well-being.

And for Lothíriel, that was a question more challenging than that of love. With love, at least, she knew where they stood, but will they be happy together regardless? Can she even become a reason for happiness in his life? Or was she doomed to always be a reminder of what he'd lost? She knew not. "I... I don't-"

At the same time, Aragorn interjected authoritatively, "I think the lady has answered enough questions."

"-I can only try," Lothíriel finished in a whisper. She looked at her betrothed who had finally stepped to her side in her defence, but it felt too little, too late to her. "Forgive me, I need some air."

And so she fled the hall, taking the servant's staircase to reach a hidden balcony upstairs. Once there, she plumped down on the marble bench and took big gulping breaths to calm her racing heart. She could not believe that she had actually run out of the hall after already being embarrassing in front of Aragorn's friends. Could she not go through an event without making a fool of herself so publicly? What was wrong with her? Where were Aunt Invriniel's poise and her mother's resilience when she needed it?

"Seeking solitude again?"

Annoyed at the intrusion, Lothíriel bit out, "What do you want, Amrothos? Come to gloat about how much disgrace I bring to our family?"

"No. I came to apologise," her brother replied as he sat beside her, but she refused to look at him. "Lothíriel, I was wrong to have said all those things to you. And I'm sorry for the hurt I caused. You're our pride and joy, Thíri. Never doubt that."

Gazing into the starless night, she wondered sadly, "How can I not? When I never seem to do anything right?"

"Sister." Amrothos put a hand on her shoulder and she finally met his eyes - the same gold-brown ones they both had inherited from their mother. "I saw what happened. You've nothing to be ashamed about. You answered them honestly, and if anything, those halflings should not have asked such questions at all."

"They were just looking out for their friend," she defended weakly, agreeing with her brother but not convinced yet.

"Which is well and good, but not at your expense." Amrothos stated that so resolutely that she couldn't help but forgive all his previous wrongs in that moment. "Why did you even agree to that absurdity?"

Lothíriel hadn't really thought about that. It had been an impulsive decision, which she was now regretting. "I do not know. Maybe I was trying to acquire his friends' approval."

Amrothos audibly clenched his jaw shut, and his voice held an outrage, that surprised Lothiriel, as he said, "You have nothing to prove to anyone, Lothíriel. If you should be 'approved', then so should be Aragorn. Shall I thus hold an interrogation of our king?"

His suggestion was so ridiculous that Lothíriel laughed out loud, "No, silly! He's the King!"

"The King who's marrying my little sister," he pointed out. Drawing her close, he put an arm around her shoulders and Lothíriel happily leaned into him. When he spoke again, she could not pinpoint the emotion lacing his voice, "Remember Thíri, you will always have a haven with me. No matter how upset we are with each other. I'm your brother, nothing can change that."

And Lothíriel truly understood the meaning behind his words, so she simply kissed his cheek and whispered, "I know."

* * *

It was the day after the announcement of Aragorn and Lothíriel's betrothal and the last day that the Rohirrim would stay in Gondor. Familiar faces surrounded the table in the garden courtyard where a tea had just ended. The Fellowship had already wandered off and only Aragorn remained of that lot on the table, along with Éomer and Éowyn who had joined them not long before. The three were chatting amicably about cultural differences between Gondor and Rohan when the Dol Amroth party arrived. Aragorn stood up to greet Lothíriel as she entered the courtyard with her brothers, but the lady barely smiled when he pulled a chair for her. Since the previous night, Lothíriel had been adamant on avoiding him. When she had finally returned from her respite after the disastrous incident, Aragorn had tried to talk to her and apologise on the hobbits' behalf, but she had inhibited all his efforts. All through the feast, she had kept herself engaged with her friends and family, spending the least amount of time with him. And even when they danced, she had made such inane small talk that had left him exhausted by the end. He had given up after that, giving her the space she was so clearly demanding, and resolved to approach the matter the next day. So here they were. But it seemed his chivalrous attempt to soften her heart had gone unnoticed by none but her.

"My friend, you put us all to shame with your gallant behaviour!" Éomer commented teasingly.

"If you would not pull out your lady's chair Éomer, then I worry for your marital future," Amrothos retorted wryly, shaking his head in mock disappointment.

Éowyn was quick to join in the teasing, adding a rejoinder of her own, "Given he has a marital future that is." The indignant huff that her brother gave in reply was enough to send them all laughing.

"What has you all in stitches out here?" A new voice entered the already merry garden.

"Faramir!" Elphir called his close friend and cousin over. Being just 4 years apart in age, the two had been thick as thieves since childhood. "Come. The Lady Éowyn was finally showing us her devious side."

The Steward glared playfully at him as he sat beside Amrothos, "I will not have you besmirching the Lady's name, Elphir. A face as fair as hers can only hide more beauty underneath." Erchirion guffawed at the words, delighting in the way Éowyn ducked her head to hide her pleased smile.

"I'm inclined to agree, cousin," Amrothos said, a mischievous grin adorning his face. "But I'm more curious about the will of steel. What say you, Lady Éowyn? Shall we go a round in the training yards?"

Éomer narrowed his eyes at the youngest son of Imrahil. "Will you cease flirting with my sister?"

"I can handle myself just fine, brother," Éowyn bristled out.

"That you certainly can, my lady," Amrothos interjected, his voice filled with admiration, and very exaggeratedly winked at her.

Shaking her head fondly at her brother's shenanigans, Lothíriel sighed exasperatedly, "Oh will you stop already, Amrothos?"

The shaggy-haired Gondorian held up his hands, "I'm just saying. She should know she's more options than just poor old Faramir." He threw a quick smirk in the man's direction, who merely raised gave unimpressed look in reply.

"And what option would that be?" Lothíriel challenged. "You? Who thought horses were a kind of ship?"

"I was barely two then!" Amrothos' protest was drowned out in the laughter that had ensued.

"But how can one confuse a horse with a ship?" Éomer asked incredulously, his brows furrowed in puzzlement. "The two are nothing alike."

Lothíriel's smile widened, "That is Amrothos for you. He thought that horses were ships that sailed on land. It was not until Father explained that the animals we rode on were the very 'horses' they kept mentioning for travel on land that he understood."

As the chuckles dwindled down, Elphir came to his brother's defence, "You were no better, Thíri. Even at ten, you thought Aunt Ivriniel would make you her spinster heiress and you would never marry as a result."

Lothíriel's eyes involuntarily went to the head of the table where Aragorn was sat, but she was quick to avert them. Sitting up straighter, she answered, "What was I supposed to think? The people always said such awful things about her. I did not know better then." All the Gondorians present grimaced at that, for they knew the whispers that had followed their unmarried aunt - none of them kind. It was only as the High Lady that she had gained some respect among the people, her brilliant management skills shining through for all to see. Staying in Minas Tirith, she had overseen the Steward's household and quite efficiently at that. Even Denethor had been reluctantly impressed.

"Well, now you know better," Erchirion broke the momentary silence that had befallen them.

"Indeed I do," Lothíriel agreed. "And I understood even then that she was a spinster by choice, not by fate. I just worried that she would raise my standards for a husband as high as hers had been and I'd never find anyone."

"Ah yes. The perfect man," Elphir mused, recalling all those stories that Ivriniel had told them meant to school them in the behaviour of a noble man - which lay in his deeds, not in his birth.

"Perfect?" Éomer's voice held scepticism. In the Mark, people strove not for perfection but for a balance of the good and the bad. To call a man 'well-rounded' would be a greater compliment there than to call him 'perfect'. So the idea that the Gondorians even chased such an impractical image seemed preposterous to him.

Faramir gave a huff of amusement, "Our aunt had a long list of qualities that she looked for in a man. No one could ever measure up to that."

"Except him. The one who was everything she desired and more," Erchirion added, and if one didn't know any better, they'd say his tone was resentful. "What was his name again?"

"Thorongil," Amrothos supplied and elaborated for the Rohirs' benefit, "Advisor to the then Steward of Gondor - Lord Ecthelion."

"Then why not marry this man?" Éomer asked.

"Because he was in love with another," Lothíriel replied sadly. While her aunt had never shown any upset over the matter, her longing had been visible whenever she mentioned him.

"Thorongil. Where have I heard that name before?" Éowyn wondered out loud, her brows furrowed in concentration. Suddenly finally remembering the detail, she looked up at Aragorn and asked him, "Was that not the name my uncle called you? Thorongil?"

Every eye on the table turned to stare at the King in surprise. Aragorn had been sitting silently so far, content to witness the interaction of the youngsters. When his previous alias had come up in relation to Lady Ivriniel, he had desperately wished for the topic to divert elsewhere. While nothing had happened between the two, he had been aware of Ivriniel's regard for him, as had she been aware of his love for Arwen. Ivriniel had not held it against him, rather accepted it with utmost grace. There had been no bitterness in her farewell when she had encouraged him to pursue his happiness, wherever it lay. He had parted from her with a renewed sense of hope and an admiration for the lady.

"Yes," Aragorn answered after a moment's pause. "That was the name I went by in my travels of Rohan and Gondor before."

"So it's you!?" Amrothos exclaimed, a baffled laugh escaping his lips. "No wonder no other man could equal the one she held in the highest esteem. For she loved the heir of Elendil himself."

"The bar was set impossibly high," Elphir agreed. "We thought Thorongil was just someone she put on that pedestal. Not real at all, or at least not someone possessing all those attributes."

"Yet here we are," Lothíriel said, her eyes locked on Aragorn. "With me marrying the very man she set that ideal on." A heavy glance passed between them, full of unspoken things they knew not how to translate yet. Lothíriel was the first to look away and she would not meet his eyes again.

"Wonder if Aunt Ivriniel would be proud or jealous," Erchirion remarked absentmindedly, twirling a blade of grass in his hand.

Faramir shook his head emphatically, "She may have been a cynic, but she was not so bitter as to wish her only niece ill."

A short silence followed that statement and Aragorn felt unease seep into his bones at the turn the conversation had taken. It was Éowyn who hesitantly spoke up, "Did she ever confess her love?" Though she asked no one in particular, Aragorn knew that she was looking for vindication. She wanted the comfort of knowing she wasn't the only one he rejected for Arwen. And what could he say to that? That yes, he did reject another, but now he's marrying someone else all the same? That he let Éowyn down knowing that Arwen had sailed West and he would need a queen were he to survive? That he did it for her own good?

"Nay, my lady, she did not have to," he finally replied. "Lady Ivriniel caught me writing a letter once, and would not relent until I had told all. When all was said and done, we had, at last, understood each other that day."

"I always marvelled at her capacity to empathise, were only I blessed with the same," Lothíriel mused with a faraway expression, but Aragorn presaged that it boded ill for him. Was she implying that she's less inclined to understanding his plight than her aunt had been? And as Lothíriel stood up and excused herself from their company, he thought his prediction might not be far off from the mark.


End file.
